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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30048870">Spare Me the Glow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/competentmonster/pseuds/chronicpainzuko'>chronicpainzuko (competentmonster)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Autistic Zuko (Avatar), Chronic Pain Zuko, Crown Prince Zuko, Depression, Hopeful Ending, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Polyamory, Portrait of a lady on fire au, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queerplatonic Maiko, Sokka (Avatar) Has ADHD, Sokka (Avatar)-centric, Suicidal Thoughts, The War Ends Early AU, Trans Sokka (Avatar), Trans Zuko (Avatar), artist sokka, republic city au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:33:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>49,255</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30048870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/competentmonster/pseuds/chronicpainzuko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At the bottom of the overwhelmingly red pile of silk is a single pale golden robe. Embroidered in undyed silk threads is a pond scene: cattail reeds, tall grasses and thorny bushes bearing tiny fruits, and long curving ripples of water tailing… turtleducks.</p><p>“This one,” Sokka says, easing it out of the trunk.</p><p>The Prince’s sharp eyes move from Sokka to the robe. </p><p>“That one was my mother’s,” he says. His voice is throaty and raw, like he isn’t used to speaking.</p><p>Sokka moves closer, holding up the robe to the Prince’s chest. His breath ghosts over Sokka’s hands. From this close it’s clear that the man’s imposing figure comes mostly from the tall crown, although he does have a few inches on him. The Prince’s eyes meet his straight on for a short moment before falling away: one pale and one dark, deep, piercing.</p><p>Sokka swallows and steps back. “If you don’t mind,” he says, clearing his throat, “this one will be perfect.”</p><p>---</p><p>Portrait of a Lady on Fire AU. Ten years after Fire Lord Iroh takes the throne and ends the war, Crown Prince Zuko travels to Republic City to have his wedding portrait painted by Sokka, a gifted artist struggling to confront his past.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Zuko/Mai (Queerplatonic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>at last, the au (counts on fingers) 9 months in the making is here! the fic is 90% written, the rest outlined, and will hopefully update once a week. chapter count may increase by one.</p><p>enormous thanks to mercy <a href="https://autisticzukka.tumblr.com/">autisticzukka (tumblr)</a>/<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3">ang3lba3 (ao3)</a> who watched this fic evolve through many iterations and held my hand every step of the way. and a shout out to genesis <a href="https://autisticfirelord.tumblr.com/">autisticfirelord (tumblr)</a>/<a href="https://twitter.com/gardenoferos">gardenoferos (twitter)</a> who listened to me brainstorm and bullshit at length. so proud that i got to write my first fic with you two hyping me up!!</p><p>if playlists are your thing, may i suggest a combo of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPhg6sc1Mk4">this</a> for ambiance and <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2IypeaMab42dj83zHTBDQF?si=rzfOVV3CR6O3c1uzDWESTQ">this</a> for emotional spoilers</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>Ten years after the end of the war, Republic City is a hub for trade among the nations. The network of self-governing neighborhoods sprawls along the coast of Cranefish Bay, an aurora, a string of light in the dark, visible from the sea.</p><p>Sokka’s studio is on the second floor of a tall, narrow stone building at the edge of the Water District, on the northern coast. The rhythmic crash of the ocean floats in through open windows. There’s a sweet smell today — the spice shop below has shipment of cardamom, cinnamon and vanilla.</p><p>The room itself is wood paneled and painted sea blue, cracking after years in salty, humid air. Transparent-screened shoji on the street side let in golden evening light.</p><p>Light that Crown Prince Zuko’s somber red robes suck up like a damn sinkhole.</p><p>“This is the outfit?” Sokka asks, frowning.</p><p>“Yes?” says the Prince, brow furrowed, glancing down at himself. The older woman accompanying him, Ikue, steps forward, light glinting off her gold hairpiece.</p><p>“You’re welcome to choose from the Fire Lord’s closet,” she says with authority, gesturing a pair of guards forward.</p><p>The Prince grumbles to himself just as Sokka thinks, <em>he’s not the Fire Lord</em>. Yet.</p><p>Two guards clunk over in heavy armor carrying a large wooden chest between them. Carved mahogany depicts flowering trees that meld into a dragon’s scales, twisting among tiny firebenders dancing and shooting flames.</p><p>Ikue unlocks the chest with a brass key and the lid creaks open revealing dozens of elaborately embroidered silk robes.</p><p>“Holy shit.” Sokka winces. “I mean — this is perfect, thank you.”</p><p>He can’t shake the feeling of eyes on him as he starts to rifle through the pile. Behind the prince are his two assistants and six guards, all watching him closely.</p><p>“You can go now,” he says, returning to the trunk. “I mean, thank you. But yeah.”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, the Prince waves them away and they file out, the door shutting with a creak.</p><p>Finally. Now he can think.</p><p>There is no shortage of red robes of various shades in the chest, from bright cran-cherry to deep maroon, nearly black — the color of the royal family. They’re beautiful but they’re no good.</p><p>At the bottom of the overwhelmingly red pile of silk is a single pale golden robe. Embroidered in undyed silk threads is a pond scene: cattail reeds, tall grasses and thorny bushes bearing tiny fruits, and long curving ripples of water tailing… turtleducks.</p><p>“This one,” he says, easing it out of the trunk.</p><p>The Prince’s sharp eyes move from Sokka to the robe.</p><p>“That one was my mother’s,” he says. His voice is throaty and raw, like he isn’t used to speaking.</p><p>Sokka moves closer, holding up the robe to the Prince’s chest. His breath ghosts over Sokka’s hands. From this close it’s clear that the man’s imposing figure comes mostly from the tall crown, although he does have a few inches on him. The Prince’s eyes meet his straight on for a short moment before falling away: one pale and one dark, deep, piercing.</p><p>Sokka swallows and steps back. “If you don’t mind,” he says, clearing his throat, “this one will be perfect.”</p><p>Prince Zuko dresses behind the heavy curtain in the corner of the room. All of Sokka’s junk is piled up back there — the props, curtains and miscellaneous things he uses for still lifes. Hopefully he’s being judged as an eccentric genius rather than a hack who can’t keep his shit together.</p><p>He lights a few candles while he waits, unnecessary but something to do.</p><p>The Prince emerges, holding up the back of his robes with one hand. The long fall of his hair is ruffled from the change.</p><p>“Have a seat.”</p><p>The Prince complies, lowering himself gracefully onto the cushioned stool on the raised dais at the center of the room, where the light from the windows converges. They don’t have much time today; the sun will set soon.</p><p>Sokka retreats into the curtained corner of the room, reappearing with a long, narrow wooden box and his drawing kit tucked under his arm. The Prince gives him a look as he steps up onto the platform.</p><p>“Oh, uh, this is just to prop up your arm,” he explains. The Fire Lord nods.</p><p>“I’ve never seen such a high quality... crate,” he says.</p><p>“Oh shit, sorry. I should really have something— a cushion—” Sokka thinks hard. The fabrics he has around are all stained, or will clash with the Prince’s robes. “Well, I made it myself? It’s all sanded down and sealed. I promise you won’t get a splinter.”</p><p>“Right. That’s not— It’s no problem.” The Prince looks uncomfortable.</p><p>Sokka hasn’t thought any of this through at all. He says gingerly, “May I?”</p><p>Prince Zuko nods hesitantly. Sokka takes his arm gently, placing his elbow atop the crate. He takes a step back off the dais. That will be fine. In fact, everything’s fine. No reason to freak out. He’s done this a hundred times. It’s just… the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation now.</p><p>“And now clasp your hands?”</p><p>“Like this?” the Prince says, fingers entwined.</p><p>“However feels comfortable. We don’t want you to look awkward in the portrait.”</p><p>“I don’t know how much we can avoid that,” he says quietly, almost to himself. After a beat, he adjusts his hands on his lap, clasping one over the other.</p><p>“Okay, just like that,” Sokka says, trying not to smile. He retreats to the easel. “Don’t worry, I promise it’ll look good. I’m the one with the hard job here, you just relax.”</p><p>The Prince’s shoulders relax by a fraction and Sokka’s heart thumps.</p><p>Sokka settles in at his stool, flips back the cover of his largest paper pad. His vine of charcoal sharpens easily with a few swipes over a strip of sandpaper.</p><p>The swift sounds of his sketching fill the room. The Prince’s brow is gentle, his cheekbones prominent and angular. His lips are round, plush and rosy, his jawline blunt but strong. There is a dusting of short, fine hairs at his hairline, but his chin is bare.</p><p>And then, of course, is his scar. It’s not as prominent as Sokka imagined from the stories. The scar itself is pale, like new skin under a scab, and with a raised, swirling texture. If it weren’t for his eye and the strange shape of his ear, it could almost be a birthmark. He moves around the paper, defining shapes, filling in shadows, until he must ask:</p><p>“Prince Zuko, would you like me to include your scar?”</p><p>The calm that had settled on the Prince’s face is gone in an instant, his mouth dipping into a frown.</p><p>“You could remove it?” he says stiffly.</p><p>“If you wanted.” In his experience wealthy people, people of high status, are overly concerned with appearances. Including a wrinkle or mole would be a fireable offense. He’s not trying to be blacklisted by the entire Fire Nation today. “A lot of the time in formal portraits people ask for imperfections to be removed.”</p><p>The Prince flinches. “And who asked you to remove it?”</p><p>“No one?” Sokka shakes his head. The Prince is staring him down like a mooselion bull. “I’m just—”</p><p>“If a member of my staff,” he interrupts, “asked you to remove my scar in my wedding portrait, I need you to tell me who.”</p><p>“No one asked me to remove it,” Sokka says. “I’m asking you. What you want.”</p><p>“What I want,” he repeats.</p><p>They stare at each other for a few breaths.</p><p>“I would like you to include it,” he says finally.</p><p>“You got it. I mean, yes, your prince… -liness.” Tui and fucking La.</p><p>Sokka returns to his sketches, feeling his heartbeat in his fingers. He fills out the drawing, and moves to a new corner of the paper, arranging the shadows of the Prince’s face again and again, quickly until his hand has a feel for them.</p><p>He rips the page from the pad and sets it on the floor within view and continues on the next page, this time at full size, including as many details as he can see in the low light.</p><p>He keeps noticing what he shouldn’t: the stillness of the room, interrupted by the rhythm of his own breath; the sounds of his neighbors closing up shop and chatting on the street; the weight of the other man’s eyes on him. He returns his attention to the paper as a rotten feeling rises in his gut.</p><p>When he turns for a rag to wipe his hands, he notices the candles on his desk flaring in time with the Prince’s breath and pauses, his head tipped down to hide himself as he watches. The room is dark now, too dark to continue. The drawing is done, he decides.</p><p>He stands to stretch and finds the Prince watching him.</p><p>“Looks like our time is up for today.”</p><p>The Prince nods and rises from the stool, rotating his shoulders and stretching his neck carefully. Sokka meets him near the door to the stairwell.</p><p>“Tomorrow evening?” the Prince says.</p><p>“Yes. But before you go,” Sokka says, before he can leave. “Um, that is. I wanted to… apologize? Um, yes, apologize. For my question earlier,” he fumbles.</p><p>“It’s fine,” The Prince deflects.</p><p>“It’s really not.”</p><p>“Sokka. Your job is to paint me the way I’d like to see myself. Not necessarily the way I am. I understand that. It’s okay.”</p><p>“You’re right.” He pauses. “I had to ask. But I could have been more tactful.”</p><p>At that, the Prince nods.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sokka says.</p><p>“I forgive you,” he says, an odd thread to his voice.</p><p>The room is so dark now that he can barely make out the Prince’s face, lit only by the candles and the dim glow of streetlights outside the windows.</p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow?”</p><p>“See you then,” the Prince agrees.</p><p>---</p><p>That night Sokka prepares the stone surface.</p><p>Canvas and paper scrolls are available here, cheaper and more common for a portrait. But working with stone is something he brings from back home where he carved designs into sheets of rock or turned bone into tiny figures. It makes his work stand apart. And he guesses the heavier the painting, the more luxurious it feels.</p><p>The marble is mounted on a supportive wood frame — invisible from the front, but sturdy enough to keep the thin slab from cracking as it is transported. One of the earthbenders that delivers shipments of raw materials and food on this end of town has a cousin who’s especially skilled in bending crystalline rock. Sokka works directly with her, providing the wood frames built to his specifications, while she crafts the delicate stone and secures it on top.</p><p>He gives the stone a thorough scrub with a bull-hog-hair brush to loosen any dirt before going in with a soapy rag. Among the glass bottles and cans of paint in his junk corner is a bottle of clear alcohol too strong for drinking — La knows he’s tried. One of his low moments. With another rag he does a final cleaning with the sharp smelling liquid.</p><p>The alcohol dries quickly while he moves the stone carefully to his easel and retrieves the priming paint. The jar is small. He gets it in small batches, going back more often than he’d need to if he just brought with him a larger jug. The gluey-chalk must be thoroughly combined with plant resin and oil to form the necessary protective surface — a substance made throughout the world, often by hand, but done best by a waterbender.</p><p>The old Northern Water Tribe woman on the plaza who makes it for him is surly, and asks pointedly when he’ll be growing his hair out properly and how he’s been eating lately in equal turn. He goes by once a week, half the time just to bring her snowberry pastries she likes from the shop on the other end of town.</p><p>Sokka applies a coat of paint in long, even strokes and then retreats to his sketchbook while it dries.</p><p>The book, once tightly bound, is now cracked at the spine. Watercolor-warped pages run through like rings in an old tree. The ruffled sections are bordered by detailed pencil drawings of Aang, seated in meditation and playing with Momo, and page after page of chaotic gesture drawings of Suki. In fighting stances and standing on her hands, rolling around in his bed, stretching out, curling up, twisting at the waist, revealing and hiding herself as she pleases.</p><p>Sokka opens the book to a bare page. The empty sheet of parchment has him at a loss. He resorts to drawing what’s in front of him: the lit candles in shiny pools of melted wax, wafting oil of jasmine flowers through the room.</p><p>He remembers the flames swelling with the Fire Lord’s breath. Like the slow heartbeat of a great beast. His own heart moves in his chest. Pulsing and pulsing.</p><p>Time for a break.</p><p>He cooks dinner upstairs at the stove, a hearth of red clay with a flat piece of metal that heats the thin metal wok quickly. His first bowl disappears quickly and he immediately eats another. A slice of honey bread is left behind on the stove to warm while he sits down at the table with Katara’s latest letter.</p><p>
  <em>Hey brother,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I get the feeling you’re sick of these letters. But I’m not going to stop writing them. I miss you and you’re not gonna get away without knowing it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gran Gran would really like to see you soon. I know this late in the summer it’s probably not going to happen. Could you think about coming next spring? I don’t mean to pester you. I know you have your own thing going on. I’d bring her to you but after her fall last winter I’m afraid the travel will be too hard on her. I thought about cushioning up Appa’s saddle but I think the temperature change would be the real problem. Other than her hip, she’s doing fine. Same old, same old. (...Get it?)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The kids have been surprising me. Is that mean? They’re just so receptive at this age. They’re as impatient to get through the intermediate forms as I was. And yes, you were right about teaching them the water whip too soon. They were all covered in bruises that week from some game they came up with. So fine. Take this one. But don’t get all big-headed about it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Can I be honest? Lately I’ve been worrying if I really know as much as I think I do. It’s strange. I haven’t felt like this since before we left. When the four of us were together, it felt like we could do anything. Watching the reconstruction, seeing everything change so much, it suddenly feels like such a huge responsibility. I just wish there were more than Wan Shi Tong’s scrolls to teach from — what if filling in the gaps puts too much of myself in them?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anyway, Aang should arrive a few weeks after you get this letter. I’m sending him with a shopping list. Don’t let him forget anything! Tui knows it’ll be another 6 months until he gets back to Republic City and between you and me, I can’t go that long without dried mango.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank you for listening, even if you don’t write back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love you.<br/>
Katara</em>
</p><p>He sets the parchment down. There’s voices on the street; his neighbors returning from their nightly indulgences. He can imagine the table in their iglu that seemed so tall as a young kid, the one Katara may have sat down at to write this letter.</p><p>Probably not. Everything is probably different now.</p><p>Back down in the studio he finds the pot of burnt umber. With a large brush, he lays down a ground of medium brown hue over the primer. He goes upstairs and eats three pieces of honey bread standing next to the warm stove.</p><p>When the birds start to chirp at the first hint of light, he blows out the remains of the candles and goes to bed.</p><p>---</p><p>Sokka awakens to his bedroom turned golden again. His brain turns on half a second after his body does and he darts out from under the blankets for the shower. He finishes changing his clothes just as the loud footsteps of the Prince’s armored guards ascend the stairs.</p><p>At the landing, the forward-most pairs of guards part to let the Prince step through. He’s wearing the robe Sokka picked out — his mother’s — and a formal crown embellished with rubies. Strings of jewels fall in a curtain around the back of his head, laying over his hair — combed and oiled this time, ink black.</p><p>“Please come in,” Sokka says, mouth clumsy, following the Prince through the door and shutting it in the faces of the guards behind him.</p><p>“The stool?” Prince Zuko asks, glancing back over his shoulder.</p><p>“Uh,” Sokka says. “Yes, yeah. Please sit.”</p><p>He checks the stone with a dab of his finger — dry — and retrieves his charcoal kit from the floor, setting it on the table beside his easel.</p><p>The Prince has his elbow on the crate and his hands clasped, like last time. Sokka joins him on the dais to adjust the robes, fluffing and twisting the back section of fabric and creating pleasant-looking folds where the wide sleeves bunch at his elbows. He takes a step back to look everything over.</p><p>“Turn your head a little — this way.” The Prince turns his head accordingly until that sharp, scarred cheekbone stands in relief. “Right there. Perfect. Is that comfortable?”</p><p>The Prince adjusts with a little wiggle on the stool, and nods.</p><p><em>Stop being adorable,</em> Sokka thinks.</p><p><em>Stop thinking the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation is adorable!</em> his mind fires back.</p><p>“If you don’t mind,” the Prince asks, “could you light the candles again?”</p><p>“The…? Yes! Of course.” He burned down the jasmine ones during his all-nighter. “Are plain ones okay?”</p><p>“Oh. Yes, that’s fine,” the Prince says. “Actually, I can— If you step back, you don’t have to waste a match.”</p><p>Sokka looks between him and the candles in his hands. “Sure.”</p><p>He lines them up on the desk and the Prince lights them effortlessly, one-handed with two pointed fingers and little puffs of breath. Standing just behind the path of the flame, Sokka expects to feel it somehow — the warmth or… something. But all he feels is a shift of the air, like he wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t know it was coming. The fire leaves the Prince’s fingertips and nearly extinguishes by the time it reaches Sokka — just enough to catch the wicks with a single spark.</p><p>It makes something flutter in his chest.</p><p>But now is not the time to investigate that. Focus.</p><p>The sketch comes quickly now that he’s familiar with the Prince’s face. Sokka prepares his palette by mixing pigment and glue in an array of mortars and delivering the pearls of paint to a framed pane of glass. He only has the hour tonight and doesn’t want any expensive pigments to go to waste.</p><p>Starting with the Prince’s face, he finds the blocks of light and shadow.</p><p>It doesn’t take much fuss, mixing color as he goes and using one color to create the next. His palette quickly becomes a roiling mess, swirls of darker shades building into lighter ones like a thundercloud.</p><p>“Are the candles a firebender thing?” Sokka asks once he’s found his rhythm.</p><p>“I guess so,” the Prince agrees after a moment. “My uncle taught me to meditate with them when I was a kid.”</p><p>“You were a patient kid.”</p><p>“Before I was injured, I was a good student. I liked to study. But I had trouble sitting still afterwards.”</p><p>“Sounds more like me. My dad says the only time I was still as a kid was in my sleep. But even then, I still kicked.”</p><p>The Prince chuckles. “You slept with your parents for a long time?”</p><p>“Of course. It’s cold in the South Pole.”</p><p>“Right.” Prince Zuko looks down at his hands.</p><p>When he doesn’t go on, Sokka asks, “You were injured?”</p><p>“My scar,” he says plainly.</p><p>“Oh.” Obviously. Get it together, Sokka. “Your scar,” he echoes, “it made it hard to concentrate?”</p><p>“Yeah. It hurt sometimes. Still hurts. Sometimes it’s hard to think about anything else.”</p><p>A burn that never goes out. Sokka holds himself stiffly to keep from wincing. “It didn’t heal?”</p><p>“It—” The Prince clears his throat. “It healed as much as it can. The healers say the flow of energy is interrupted, the pathways have been blocked by the burn. So my body uses pain to tell me something’s wrong there.” He smiles weakly. “Obviously, I already know that. But there’s nothing more to be done.”</p><p>Sokka lets out a breath. “That sounds very hard.”</p><p>“It is.”</p><p>“But the candles help.”</p><p>The Prince looks up. “Yes, the candles help.”</p><p>They are quiet for a while as Sokka switches to a larger brush, mixing golds as he lays down the Prince’s robes.</p><p>“My mom used to get bad headaches,” Sokka says after a minute. On days when the sun was too bright on the snow, she had to stay inside or the pain would have her crying out, vomiting, sleeping all day. The adults tried not to let him and Katara see, but it was just a part of life. “It was hard for her. If there’s anything else I can do to help, please let me know. I’m happy to keep candles here for you.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Sokka works away at the robes, the shiny silk that drapes gently over the Prince’s slim forearms and falls in soft drapes, catches even the barest hints of reflected light.</p><p>“What is it like?” He asks, not quite sure that he means. But if the candles help distract the Prince, his attempts at conversation might too. “I’m not a bender, so I don’t know the way other people know. My sister is a waterbender, but I never felt like I could ask her. I noticed last time, the flames kind of— flared up with your breath. Is that what you do? When it hurts?”</p><p>The Prince frowns, his cheeks flushed. Maybe Sokka shouldn’t have commented on it, but he can’t find it in himself to regret it.</p><p>“I don’t… hmm.” He pauses, thinking. After a long minute he says, “The original masters bent fire with the breath. It can be fueled by emotion, but ultimately it comes from the inner fire. When I meditate, I focus on that. The center of the energy in the body, the life force. When I bend I can feel that energy move through me and extend past my fingertips as fire. It’s the same with the candles. The energy of my breath flows through the room and...”</p><p>The Prince’s cheeks go redder suddenly and he frowns harder. “Uh, sorry. I’m not sure that answered your question.”</p><p>Sokka falters in his painting, brush twitching in the air. He puts it aside. The light is nearly gone anyway.</p><p>“I didn’t expect that,” he says.</p><p>The Prince ducks his head.</p><p>“No! I meant, um,” Sokka stumbles. “I meant, if it feels like that, why don’t people talk about it constantly?”</p><p>“You never asked your sister?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The other man starts to relax, his flush fading. “Why not? Um, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>Sokka thinks, busies himself clearing his palette, combining the leftover paint and collecting it in one corner of the glass with a sharp edged flat of metal.</p><p>“I’m from the South,” he says, knowing the Prince will understand the significance. “Growing up, my sister was the only waterbender in our tribe. When she first started to bend, the whole village was afraid the soldiers would come take her. I’m old enough to remember the last raid. It was…” He trails off, swallows thickly.</p><p>It was the worst day of his life. It changed something in his head and he’s never been the same.</p><p>“It was horrible,” he finishes. “After that, waterbending just seemed like a curse.”</p><p>“That’s awful,” the Prince says, stunned. He quickly freezes. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I… I’ve studied our history. The Fire Nation’s history. I know about the raids on the South. But I’ve never heard about it firsthand, from someone who was there. I’m very sorry. For what happened.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sokka says shortly. He stands clumsily and retreats to the back for a vessel for the brown glob of leftover paint.</p><p>He can’t place the sensation in his chest: watery creatures scrimmaging, turning over each other and dredging up mud in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>When he was young, the elders told stories about bending and the people who were taken. The benders once built huge structures, domes made of ice that could encompass an entire village. They melted rivers in the glacier and connected the villages, and could propel canoes from one town to another in less than a day. They made rivers to the best hunting spots, ponds of water that drew the animals, routes to the shallows where sea prunes and kelp grew.</p><p>All of it was destroyed in the raids, or froze up again with no one to maintain it.</p><p>He didn’t understand the loss in those stories until he got older. He was practically-minded as a kid. There were more real things to focus on: learning to hunt and set traps to feed the village. Learning to sail and fight with a club in case the soldiers came back. He said awful things to Katara about her bending. It was freakish magic and if she ever used it, they would come for her.</p><p>After the raid... After that, he never said anything like that again.</p><p>Sokka wipes the paint from the blade into the jar and seals the cork tightly.</p><p>When he returns, the Prince has risen from his seat and stands by the easel. He looks up when Sokka approaches.</p><p>“This is the first layer?” he asks, his eyes catching the candlelight.</p><p>“It is,” Sokka answers, walls up. “Do you…?” He doesn’t know what he’s asking, but the Prince picks up the thread anyway.</p><p>“I asked about the process before I came,” he admits. “I get nervous about new places, new people. The family portraits when I was young weren’t like this so I didn’t know what to expect.”</p><p>“So you learned about painting?” Sokka asks.</p><p>“Just a little. My uncle’s friend is a master of landscape painting. He invited me along to one of their pai sho games to ask some questions.”</p><p>Sokka imagines two old men on opposite sides of the board, Prince in between pouring tea for the three of them.</p><p>“That’s…” He smiles. “That’s sweet.”</p><p>Prince Zuko steps closer to him and touches his arm, the slightest brush of his fingers against his sleeve. Sokka tries to hide his surprise.</p><p>“Would you—” he stops short. “That is, Mai doesn’t arrive for a few days. And I’ve been wanting to see more of the city. Would you go on a walk with me tonight?”</p><p>Sokka glances towards the shoji, dim with only the light of streetlamps below. It’s only just past sunset, but he wouldn’t expect the Prince to be allowed to wander a strange city after dark. “Tonight?”</p><p>“Not if you don’t—” He sucks in a deep breath and takes a step back. “This is inappropriate, I’m sorry. Just— pretend I didn’t say anything.”</p><p>“No! It’s not. I mean, maybe? But I want to!” Sokka says in a rush.</p><p>“You do?”</p><p>“Yes? Yeah.” All his thoughts are scrambling around in his head. “Let’s— let’s go on a walk.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Silence hangs in the room for a moment, everything settling down in Sokka’s mind.</p><p>“I have to go now,” the Fire Lord says. “I’ll slip away from the consulate in a few hours. You’ll... meet me here?”</p><p>“I’ll meet you here,” Sokka agrees. Obviously.</p><p>---</p><p>The evening passes strangely, both achingly slow and too quick all at once.</p><p>Sokka bathes and braids his hair back into its wolf tail. He decides his sides need a trim, and one swipe in realizes he’s trying too hard. Way too hard. But it’s too late to go back so he finishes, contrite.</p><p>He chooses his second most casual tunic — also his second most fancy tunic as he only has three. The fabric is deep blue with woven trim in a Southern interlocking triangle pattern and tufts of polar dog seal fur at the shoulders. He keeps his usual jewelry: the bone necklace from the first porpoise-whale he helped hunt, and the Northern-style beaded earrings that remind him of Yue.</p><p>After grooming, he goes back down to the studio. He draws in his sketchbook for an hour with the shoji open, the sounds of the street floating past: footsteps and voices coming and going as people enter restaurants and barrooms and the night comes to life.</p><p>Every few minutes, he feels a jolt of excitement go through him. At least, he’s decided it’s excitement, even though it makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t been out with another person in months — not since the last time Aang visited. And this... feels like a date.</p><p>Obviously it’s not, since the Prince is about to get married. But he lets his body believe it is, hoping it will let him access the part of him that doesn’t love the taste of his own foot.</p><p>Finally, he hears a creak in the stairwell and abandons his sketchbook for the door.</p><p>The Prince looks… different. Really different. He’s wearing a dark hooded tunic and pants, the shiny pointed boots replaced by simple brown leather ones. As Sokka steps into the hallway and pulls the door closed behind him, the Prince pulls the hood back revealing dark hair pulled away from his face into one long braid down his back, no crown to speak of.</p><p>Sokka suddenly feels like a fool. How stupid is he to dress up for a secret— <em>outing</em> with the Prince, who obviously wants to go unnoticed? He would give anything to erase the past few hours from existence, all the earnest, hopeful thoughts that passed through his mind unscrutinized. He even <em>shaved his hair.</em></p><p>He has no idea what’s happening on his face but the Prince takes one look at him and says anxiously, “Do you think anyone will recognize me?”</p><p>Sokka is stunned for a moment before he pushes forward pitchily, “No! I think you’re good. <em>I</em> almost didn’t recognize you.”</p><p>His expression eases into a smile and the rest of him follows, the tension melting out of him. He suddenly looks more relaxed than Sokka has ever seen him. Without the heavy robes and jewelry weighing him down he seems full of energy, shifting his weight on his feet and fidgeting with his hands unself-consciously.</p><p>“Oh,” the Prince says, “you, um.” He gestures to Sokka’s face, and Sokka reaches a hand to his temple reflexively. A hand streaked with charcoal, he notes as it passes into his field of view.</p><p>“Shit,” Sokka says, wiping his fingers on his pants, which are nearly black anyway.</p><p>The Prince laughs, “Here, let me?” and braces one hand cupping the side of his head and uses the other to wipe the marks away firmly.</p><p>As his face heats, Sokka sends out a thanks that he doesn’t flush too noticeably. The Prince lets go and looks down at his dark thumb before wiping it on his own pants.</p><p>They meet eyes for a moment before Prince Zuko laughs quietly and Sokka can’t help joining him, already a little overwhelmed.</p><p>“I guess I should keep an eye out for stray charcoal while fraternizing with an artist,” The Prince says.</p><p>“‘Fraternizing’?” Sokka says. “What does that make me? The Fire Prince’s mistress?”</p><p>He wants to smack himself.</p><p>Zuko blushes prettily. “I… well… Mai was happy to hear I’d be getting out.”</p><p>That’s a lot to process all at once. Okay. Definitely a date. And his wife— future wife — is happy about their date. Well. That’s a lot of pressure, but better than the opposite.</p><p>“Um. Shall we?” Sokka leads them down the stairwell, sneakily wiping his damp brow under the guise of fixing his hair.</p><p>He’s relieved by the cool night air when they emerge onto the main road. The Prince radiates warmth, especially noticeable when their shoulders brush as he moves himself to Sokka’s left.</p><p>They pass by more narrow buildings, some windows dark and others brightly lit and full of noisy people, street lanterns lighting the way. Neighbors in groups and pairs pass by and they get a few curious looks, familiar Sokka walking down the street with a stranger in a dark hood.</p><p>“So,” Sokka says, crowding him briefly as they overtake a slower group of people. “What kind of walk did you have in mind?”</p><p>“Honestly,” the Prince says. “I wanted to see the parts of the city that aren’t in the official welcome tour, but there’s—” He pauses to sidestep a group of teenagers jostling one another. “There’s more people than I imagined.”</p><p>Before Sokka can wonder why the Prince’s idea of a city has no people in it, there’s a voice calling his name from the other side of the street.</p><p>“Sokka!” Natsiq, one of the owners of the spice shop, waves.</p><p>“Hey,” Sokka grins. “Are you warm?”</p><p>“Of course, bud.” Natsiq pulls him into a hug that smells of ginger and clove. “You?”</p><p>“Just toasty.”</p><p>“Who’s your— Oh.”</p><p>Natsiq looks around and Sokka’s eyes follow. The spot where the Prince once stood beside him is empty.</p><p>“<em>Shit.</em>” If he’s lost the Fire Prince right now, he is fucking screwed. Sokka whirls, searching the crowd for a dark figure, a black braid — there’s none, only a shift of movement in the alley across the way. “Sorry, I’ve gotta—”</p><p>“Who is that—”</p><p>“Just a new friend. I gotta go find him, I’ll catch you later,” Sokka throws over his shoulder, letting Natsiq’s frown brush off him.</p><p>The alley seems empty as he approaches, but he definitely saw something a moment ago. There, deeper in the shadows where empty barrels are stacked up near the fire escape is that movement again.</p><p>“Hey,” Sokka says when he catches up to the Prince, a gentle hand on his arm.</p><p>He jerks and in the blink of an eye Sokka’s back is to the brick wall, the pulse in his neck pounding against what must be the sharp point of a dagger.</p><p>Just as quickly recognition falls over the Prince’s face and he drops his knife-wielding hand away.</p><p>“Shit,” he spits, stepping backwards heavily. “I can’t fucking see from that side, you asshole.”</p><p>“Sorry!” Sokka holds his hands up defensively. “Sorry, I know! Well, I didn’t know that, but I know I shouldn't sneak up on the Fire Lord— I was just—” He breaks off in favor of catching his breath, cold sweat and adrenaline still rushing over him.</p><p>“I am <em>not</em> the Fire Lord.”</p><p>“Yeah I know, not yet. I’m recovering from a life threatening situation here.”</p><p>“Shit,” the Prince says again, much more regretfully.</p><p>“It’s okay. Best possible outcome.” Sokka lets himself slide to the ground.</p><p>“Yeah.” The Prince slips the little dagger back into his sleeve. “They teach us not to hesitate. And I did. So.”</p><p>“I’m lucky to be alive,” Sokka sighs. “That would not have looked good for you. You know, diplomatically.”</p><p>“Don’t even say that.”</p><p>“I’m alive. So part of you must’ve known it was me, I guess,” Sokka says.</p><p>“I— wasn’t really thinking when I left.”</p><p>“Ran off.”</p><p>“I didn’t run.”</p><p>“Right, you left. Quickly. With very fast steps.”</p><p>“<em>Right,</em>” he echoes, “so I wouldn’t be recognized by your friend.”</p><p>“It worked. Good job. We were very confused.”</p><p>The Prince snorts, and then covers his mouth with a hand.</p><p>“You think that’s funny?”</p><p>The Prince nods.</p><p>“Maybe it is a little funny, now that I know they teach you to stab and you can handle yourself. Who is 'they' anyway? And how do they get vetted?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about me,” he says with a wry smile.</p><p>“I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that.” Sokka can’t keep himself from smiling back.</p><p>Prince Zuko’s eyes flutter over his face from across the narrow alley. The light from the street pulls the sheen of his hair, the top of his cheek out from the dark. Sokka can’t look away.</p><p>With the rush in his ears fading, the noise of the crowd filters in again and Sokka realizes how public this moment of theirs is. The fading adrenaline has him wanting to sidle up closer. He doesn’t.</p><p>“Now that I’ve tried to kill you, do you think this date is still salvageable?” the Prince says, squaring his shoulders like he’s nervous and trying to hide it.</p><p>
  <em>Date.</em>
</p><p>“There is something I could show you. It’s a bit of a hike. But no people at this time of night.”</p><p>“Something worth seeing with no people?” He offers a hand.</p><p>Sokka takes it and is heaved to his feet with surprising ease. “You’ll see.”</p><p>---</p><p>The Prince seems to feel better almost immediately as they get away from the throngs of people, toward the edge of the city. Sokka didn’t realize how tightly he held his posture, controlled his movements until that control loosens its grip, revealing a strong, easy gait.</p><p>He tries to light their way with a flame as they leave the last reaches of street lamps but Sokka makes him put it away. It’s safer to climb in moonlight in these conditions.</p><p>The path up the cliffs is steep and rocky. Fog starts the creep in, getting denser as they climb.</p><p>They move quietly, aside from heavy breaths as they heave themselves past boulders until the dirt trail evens and turns to pale dry grass, knee high on either side of the trodden path. The air is wet and thick in Sokka's lungs, dragging on every breath.</p><p>“Take my hand,” he says. His voice rings strangely in the cloud.</p><p>The Prince is a greyed out figure at his side, a warm hand that heats further the longer Sokka holds it, loosening his stiff fingers.</p><p>“I can barely see anything.”</p><p>“Stay close to me. We’re at the top of the bluff now.”</p><p>During the full moon the landscape is as clear as day, but on the new moon a lantern low on oil means staying put until the sun rises or risk falling. Tonight there is enough light for Sokka to see a couple feet around his boots and that’s all he needs.</p><p>He leads them past a boulder, a familiar shrub, a rocky patch spotted with moss. The fog parts around them. Soft like the brush of furs, a path continuously opening. It’s clear why people step over the edge here, accidentally or incidentally. The cliffside is dangerous and alluring. Perhaps on some nights, irresistible.</p><p>The texture of the grass changes, an area of soft young sod that seeps damp into the rear of Sokka’s pants as he guides them to sit.</p><p>The Prince settles right beside him, the thinnest mist between them. He keeps Sokka's hand in his. “Are we close to the edge?”</p><p>“Not too close. It’s safe.”</p><p>The view is shy and reveals itself slowly. It’s beautiful during the day but tonight it’s something else. The waning crescent moon glows in the moving fog. Patches of night sky come and go, a glittering pathway shifting in the dark.</p><p>They watch in silence, hands grasped together.</p><p>“Thank you for bringing me here,” the Prince sighs.</p><p>Sokka leans until their shoulders touch. The Prince leans back against him.</p><p>“I have a confession,” Sokka says. “It’s nothing bad. Just that... I’ve been referring to you as ‘the Prince’ in my head and it’s starting to feel a little weird. You know, with the holding hands in the moonlight and all.”</p><p>His shoulders relax. “You scared me.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to,” Sokka says sheepishly. “Are you going to have me keep calling you Prince Zuko as punishment?”</p><p>He smiles, a quirk of the mouth that pulls at his scar interestingly. “Call me Zuko.”</p><p>“Then I guess you can call me Sokka.”</p><p>“Okay, Sokka.” The low rasp in his voice drags over the <em>s</em>, his Fire Nation accent drawing low vowels from his chest.</p><p>Sokka can’t help the way his gaze falls to Zuko’s lips, just for a moment before he makes himself tear his eyes away.</p><p>“The stars are even clearer in the South,” Sokka says. He looks back to the sky, trying to redirect his thoughts. “Here the light from the street lamps drown them out.”</p><p>“I’m sure it’s the same where I’m from. I’ve never seen a night without torches.”</p><p>“I’ve been to a couple cities in the Fire Nation. It’s like you’re all afraid of the dark.”</p><p>Zuko chuckles and ducks his head. “Maybe that’s true. I keep catching myself about to make a flame.”</p><p>“Like it’s automatic.” Sokka smiles. “You can if you want. But we won’t be able to see the sky as well.”</p><p>“No,” Zuko says. “I’d rather see it like this.”</p><p>“You’re not scared? Lost, alone in the dark?”</p><p>“I’m not alone.” He turns his head to look at him, a sliver of scar past the ridge of his nose.</p><p>Zuko’s hand shifts until their palms are pressed together. His is larger and broader than Sokka’s, with blunt fingers that taper smoothly. It makes something swoop in his chest, used to the back of his own hand in that spot of his thigh — narrow and long, knuckles like knots in an old tree.</p><p>All at once, the cloud slips over the cliffside, a breeze blowing through in its wake. Across the vast expanse of the sea is an orange trail of light — the signal fires at the nearest Fire Nation port at the tip of the archipelago.</p><p>“Oh,” Zuko says. “It’s beautiful.”</p><p>“I thought you’d like it. When I first came here, I was surprised at how close it is. It’s one thing to see it on a map, but...”</p><p>“Yeah." Zuko pulls his hand away to fidget with the other.</p><p>Every time Sokka sees this view, he imagines it from the other side. A Fire Nation lighthouse sits on the farthest island. Did it exist one hundred years ago? Back then there was no City here. It was an Earth Kingdom fishing village, a small spread of houses and boats dotting the bay. A threat to nothing and no one.</p><p>Sokka wonders if he and Zuko are trying to imagine the same thing: what Sozin could have possibly seen looking across the water when he decided to irreparably harm the balance of the world.</p><p>“Will you tell me more about the Caldera?”</p><p>“What would you like to know?” Zuko asks.</p><p>“Whatever you want to tell me.”</p><p>“Okay.” Zuko presses his lips together, thinking. “It’s hot there. And dry. Much drier than it is here.”</p><p>“It’s not hard to be,” Sokka chuckles.</p><p>“When we were young, my sister and I weren’t allowed outside the palace grounds. But we would run around, climb trees. My mother used to let us swim in the ponds in the summer.” He smiles crookedly. “Even the ones filled with goldfish koi.”</p><p>“Your fish ponds are in the palace?” Sokka asks skeptically.</p><p>“Yeah. Uh, not the ones for eating,” Zuko says. “They’re for… looking at, I guess.”</p><p>“So the palace has many beautiful pet fish. I’d never have known that.”</p><p>“My favorite place is one particular pond under a giant old tree. That’s where the turtleducks live.” Zuko closes his eyes as if remembering.</p><p>“Like your robe?” Sokka asks.</p><p>He flushes and a wave of warmth comes off him. “I guess so. It was my mom’s favorite place too.”</p><p>“Is that why it’s your favorite?”</p><p>“Because she loved it?”</p><p>“Yeah. Or maybe... because it reminds you of her.”</p><p>Zuko looks out at the ocean, quiet. At last he says softly, “Yeah, I think that’s why.”</p><p>The night is not quiet or still — moving water, the chirp and buzz of insects, the rise and fall of their own chests — but for several breaths it feels that way.</p><p>After a moment, Sokka asks, “Your mom… she’s gone?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Zuko sighs. “She’s gone.”</p><p>Sokka presses his shoulder against Zuko’s, and looks down at their hands: Zuko’s tangled together in his lap; his own back in that familiar spot on his thigh.</p><p>“Mine too,” he offers.</p><p>Zuko’s shoulder presses back into his. “How long ago?” he asks gently.</p><p>The ocean crashes steadily against the rocks, far below them.</p><p>“It was the last raid,” Sokka says.</p><p>“Oh.” Zuko sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it. We can talk about something else.”</p><p>Sokka shakes his head. “It’s okay. I think… I think it would help me. To talk about it. If you’re okay with it.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Zuko says, shifting slightly towards him.</p><p>Wind rustles the grass, rushing past him over the edge and sweeping up into the moon-bright sky. He feels the fabric of his pants under his fingers, the shift in the air as Zuko breathes next to him. Words feel far away.</p><p>“I was ten,” Sokka says haltingly. “And the soldiers came for my sister. They knew there was one last waterbender but they didn’t know who.”</p><p>Of course, he didn’t know that until later. He had never seen black snow before — like the night sky was crumbling and falling to the earth. At first it was chaos, the adults yelling and picking up weapons, collecting the youngest children.</p><p>“While our warriors fought the soldiers, the captain cornered my mom in our house. She told him she was the one he was looking for. My sister— she was only eight. My sister found her.”</p><p>Sokka never saw her. But Katara told him, on one of those nights right afterwards when they slept just the two of them because Dad was distraught and couldn’t be left alone.</p><p><em>She was all burned up,</em> she said.</p><p>A wave of grief washes over him like a wall. It nearly crushes him into the ground — sour, twisting pain and loneliness wringing up his insides. Longing for a different world, the one he can imagine lying right on top of this one. Where they are not apart, all across the world. Where his mother is not dead.</p><p>Sokka pushes a hand against his eyes. Why is he telling Zuko this? Why is he talking about this? His chest aches, his throat aches. He pushes his hand against his eyes. Don’t cry. The tears come anyway.</p><p>Zuko unfolds and kneels beside him, wrapping his arms around him tightly. The tears sting and Sokka swallows them down. He catches his breath. Zuko is there, steady, and Sokka gives in.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says into Zuko’s neck.</p><p>“Don’t apologize,” he says.</p><p>“I’ve never told anyone that before.”</p><p>“Never?” Zuko holds him closer.</p><p>“There was never… It was never the time.”</p><p>They grieved, and then Dad left to represent the Southern Villages in the peace negotiations. They found Aang soon after that, and Sokka accompanied Katara to the North so she could fulfill her destiny, to become a master and revive the art of Southern waterbending.</p><p>He saw things he’d never seen before, tasted foods he’d never tasted. He layed in the sun with his shirt off and was too hot instead of too cold. He met so many people — as different as they could possibly be — all trying to heal in the aftermath of the war.</p><p>And he learned to paint. He learned to love to paint. He grew so much he seemed to change into a new form.</p><p>But no. It was never the right time to talk about that.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says, and Zuko holds him tighter.</p><p>He smells like jasmine.</p><p>Sokka’s heart slowly stops constricting.</p><p>After a few minutes they untangle, wordlessly agreeing to hike back down the hillside.</p><p>Sokka’s eyes move between watching his step and watching Zuko — his slim shoulders, the back of his mismatched ears, the flown-away hairs that catch the light of the orange flame cupped in his hand. His mind turns without revealing anything to him.</p><p>They reach the edge of town and say goodbye for the night. Zuko hugs him again and Sokka finds himself pressing his lips against his warm neck. And then Zuko’s turning away, pulling his hood up, the pale crescent of his face disappearing into the dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sokka learns something new about turtleducks.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>we earn the rating this chapter. if you would like summarized spoilers for the smut scene and the language used for body parts, see the end notes.</p><p>enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That night Sokka sleeps better than he has in years.</p><p>He wakes up groggy, feeling 16, like he’s sleeping on the ground again and forced from his dreams by Momo’s paw in his mouth, having slept longer than he's comfortable with. Best to get some errands done to make use of all the rest.</p><p>Downstairs he begs for more turmeric from Natsiq and Aklaq in exchange for a few skeins of yarn once he's finished.</p><p>Tin of spices in hand, Sokka makes his way down the main road to the plaza, a queasy feeling in his gut that he refuses to look at directly.</p><p>He stops by Yuka’s fiber shop first, where the alpaca-sheep shepherd from up the hill brings his shorn wool to be washed and carded, and finally spun into thread and yarn. Yuka’s baby plays with his earrings as she shows him the various plys of yarn and Sokka leaves with a large mass of them tied into a bundle that he wears on his back.</p><p>It’s busy in the plaza, his neighbors chatting and exchanging supplies and tools, the useful things of everyday life. He passes through the produce market and collects greens, root vegetables and ripe fruit in his basket, joking and catching up as he goes.</p><p>The bakery is filled with sweet, fragrant air. He drops off a jar of purple cherry-plum root dye with the baker’s apprentice, whose wife uses it to decorate her calligraphy. In exchange he chooses a couple pastries and a loaf of crusty golden bread.</p><p>He meanders to his last stop. His head grows heavy. He unravels his queasy feeling to the thud of his footsteps: for the next three weeks, his life will revolve around Zuko — the sittings, the studying, the painting long into the night.</p><p>Maybe he’s made a mistake by introducing another thread of Zuko to the tangle.</p><p>Last night was too fun and too vulnerable. He doesn’t know if he can bear any more of that. Just as strongly, he might die without another taste.</p><p>Sokka makes it to the icy shop where he chooses some shellfish and a salmon-trout for the fishmonger to gut, debone and fillet for him. Kanut freezes one half for him to keep the other cold as he makes his way back home and Sokka leaves behind a sticky bun in thanks.</p><p>He exhales in relief when he climbs his stairs and finally sets the load of yarn down on his kitchen table.</p><p>The cold things go in the ice box and he eats his pastries, starts a pot of congee. Finally, he falls into a chair with his head in his hands.</p><p>Water simmers on the stove. The noise outside the window lulls, sensing the roil of thoughts in his head.</p><p>Zuko will soon be the Fire Lord. Zuko is getting married as soon as he leaves here with his wedding triptych.</p><p>Sokka doesn’t know how they do it in the Fire Nation. In the South, in their village, people fall in love in all sorts of ways — not just for politics or babies or whatever else is important to the Fire Nation court.</p><p>Most nights when they were young, he and Katara slept between their parents under a pile of furs to keep warm. And some nights they slept next to Gran Gran in her house. Dad and Mom were in love, and Dad and Bato were in love. So some nights the three of them slept beside each other in Bato’s house. It was normal. Ice, sea and rain — a marriage of three.</p><p>But this is completely different.</p><p>It’s like Zuko said. He’s just trying to get out of his room at the consulate, entertain himself on his visit. He probably has a fling like this at each of his stops.</p><p>A pang hits him in the chest.</p><p><i>No.</i> He won’t let that hurt his feelings— let <i>himself</i> hurt his feelings and ruin this. It’ll be what it is, and he can accept that.</p><p>---</p><p>That evening, the Prince arrives early.</p><p>“Would you like to share a meal with me?” he asks, in his exquisite heirloom robe.</p><p>He will not be going out like that. Sokka grabs a painting smock for him and invites him upstairs.</p><p>“Please sit,” he says, nodding to the chairs at the kitchen table.</p><p>Zuko complies, smiling cheekily, and clasps his hands in his lap. “Like this?”</p><p>“Perfect.” The ghost of an ache echoes through him. Sokka smiles. “Just like that.”</p><p>Leaving Zuko to look around, Sokka turns to the ice box, pulling out scallops and shrimp. Cleaned and tossed with ginger, sea salt, a splash of rice wine, they get added to the pot of congee once it thickens up along with sesame oil and green onion to the top.</p><p>As soon as the shrimps turn pink in the hot porridge, he brings the whole pot to the table on a metal trivet with two bowls and spoons.</p><p>“One last thing,” Sokka says, grabbing the smock. He bundles it up by the collar so he can slip the ring of cloth over Zuko’s crown and around the back of his hair.</p><p>When his face pops through Sokka gets lost looking at him for a moment. Hair rustled from its precise comb, dark eye creased up by a curved smile, scar pulling on one side of his mouth. A moment passes and the amused look on his face falls into something more thoughtful.</p><p>Sokka snaps out of it and drops the smock on Zuko’s shoulders for him to situate. He turns his warm face to the food, dishing out a bowl for each of them. When he turns back, Zuko has dressed himself and is looking on in admiration.</p><p>“My uncle once made jook for me when I was very sick,” he says as Sokka takes the seat adjacent to him.</p><p>“So you like it? I was kind of worried it was too— That you’d be used to something fancier.” Sokka shuts himself up by shoveling a bite into his mouth, and Zuko follows suit.</p><p>“Yes, I like it,” he says between bites. “You’re not wrong. I never learned to cook but my uncle likes to cook for himself sometimes. He learned to make this during his travels— or something similar at least.”</p><p>“His travels— you mean during the war?”</p><p>“No. Well, I guess technically.” Zuko scrapes his spoon around the inner edge of his bowl. “It was after my cousin Lu Ten died at Ba Sing Se.”</p><p>Not <i>in</i> Ba Sing Se— he must mean the Siege.</p><p>“My uncle lost faith in the war and left all his troops at the wall. He disappeared for two years.”</p><p>Sokka sets his spoon down. “Wait, he disappeared?”</p><p>Sokka always wondered what motivated the Fire Lord to end the war, to beckon Sokka's father from their village so suddenly. How shameful, that it took his own loss for the Dragon of the West to learn that war kills sons, daughters, children.</p><p>“He sent letters every so often letting us know he was still alive. But no one knew where he was. About a year after my grandfather died and my father took the throne, he finally came back to the Fire Nation.”</p><p>“Where was he all that time?”</p><p>“He wouldn’t tell anyone. Not until my sister and I were older and being formally mentored.” Zuko smiles, and the tone of his story shifts. “Any problem we had, he had a piece of advice or a story."</p><p>"Like what?" Sokka asks, hiding his skepticism.</p><p>"A lot of metaphors about tea. The importance of balance." Zuko falters for a moment. "He made sure we studied our history and understood its consequences."</p><p>Sokka looks at him closely. His hand lies flat and still on the table, nails filed down and clean, the skin around unmarred. The air feels heavy. There's a lot he could say, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't need to. This is Zuko's burden. Sokka won't offer him any stamp of approval and Zuko isn't asking him for it.</p><p>Zuko breaks the silence for him. "There is one story he told me that I've been thinking about lately."</p><p>Sokka catches Zuko's eye on him. "Yeah? What is that?"</p><p>"When I was around 17, he found me by the turtleduck pond—"</p><p>"The one you told me about," Sokka notices.</p><p>"Yes, the same one. He told me something I didn't know about turtleducks. Everyone knows they mate for life, but I didn't know that they don't do it in pairs. The adults form a flock, a whole group that nest together, forage together, even raise ducklings all as a group, for life.</p><p>"Maybe it's stupid. But it helped me. By then I was realizing how isolated I was. It was suddenly clear how much I missed being locked in the palace for so long. I didn't fit and I never will. But I started to hope that maybe there were more people out there like me. I just had to be patient and find them."</p><p>Others like him — shards broken off from the whole. Crooked pieces that no longer fit with their odd protrusions. Sokka has been trying to grind down those pieces, burn them away. It doesn't work but he doesn't know how to stop.</p><p>"That's a really great lesson," Sokka says, meaning it and feeling wrong-footed all the same.</p><p>Zuko nods. His hand curls up, knuckles against the table. "Thank you for letting me talk so much. Sorry if it was too much, or too weird—"</p><p>"It wasn't too weird," Sokka interrupts. "You're not too weird."</p><p>"Okay. You're not too weird either," Zuko's smile twists. "I mean— not like that—"</p><p>"I'm just weird enough, I know," Sokka laughs.</p><p>"Exactly."</p><p>The light now in its prime position, they stand and Sokka sets their dishes in the sink to deal with later.</p><p>“Thank you for cooking for me,” Zuko says politely, pink faced and wearing Sokka’s stained smock with his extremely royal, fancy crown.</p><p>“Any time,” Sokka says. His chest feels warm but it’s probably just from the food.</p><p>He leads the way down the staircase, inching past Zuko’s guards who bring up the rear. They say nothing about the addition to Zuko’s outfit.</p><p>Zuko allows Sokka to remove the smock again, smiling and raising his arms obediently when asked. Afterwards, he takes his place on the dais and Sokka at the easel. They get to work preparing palettes and lighting candles.</p><p>Reds, yellows, warm burnt brown and deep blue soon dot his glass panel. Sokka works for a while in comfortable quiet until Zuko’s face looks back at him recognizably from the stone.</p><p>Creaks from the store below and noise from the street filter in, rounded by the quiet dance of candles in the corner of his eye. They flare out and in. Zuko’s fingers begin to curl in his lap.</p><p>Sokka breaks the silence as he stretches with a groan. Blinking hard as he withdraws himself from the easel, he says, “There’s another hour of light left, but let's take a break first.”</p><p>Zuko stands gingerly and stops with his hand on the stool for balance. His expression slips off his face. Sokka takes a step closer to him as Zuko says very quietly, “Could I have some ice, please? In a rag?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sokka says, too loudly, and then quieter, “Yeah, of course. Just a minute.”</p><p>When Sokka returns with a rag of ice chipped away from the ice box, Zuko is hunched over in the chair at the desk, the candles flaring beside him. He raises his head as Sokka approaches, and Sokka notices his labored breath and the color drained out of his face.</p><p>“Could I lie down, please?” he asks, taking the ice pack and holding it over his left eye with a long exhale.</p><p>“Yeah, of course,” Sokka says, and then to himself, “You probably can’t make it up the stairs, huh.”</p><p>He collects the drop cloths from his storage area and piles them on a bare section of the dais. The cushions from their stools are repurposed into a pillow.</p><p>“Here, do you need a hand?”</p><p>“Yes please,” Zuko says, standing with his neck very rigid and still. Sokka offers his elbow and helps him sit on the ledge of the dais. He cradles the back of Zuko’s neck and helps lower him to the ground. The back of his neck feels hot — not swollen but riotous under the skin.</p><p>“Ah,” Zuko gasps, immediately sitting back up. “These fucking jewels.” He reaches for the pin securing his crown and yanks on it, the ruby encrusted fire emblem falling with a clatter, quickly followed by the clunk of the gold dragon that once encircled his topknot.</p><p>Sokka winces at the noise but moves them aside.</p><p>“Can you ask Ikue for my medicine?” Zuko asks. “Don’t let them come in. More people is—”</p><p>“Bad, I hear you. Just a sec.”</p><p>Sokka does as he’s told, heart pounding with urgency, and returns with a vial of dark liquid.</p><p>Zuko raises his head to flick a few drops into the back of his mouth with the dropper and passes the vial back. Sokka takes it and pours him a glass of water from the jug on the desk, sits cross-legged at Zuko’s side beside the dais in case he needs anything else.</p><p>In the next few minutes, the tension in Zuko peaks, his breaths growing shaky. It scares Sokka to watch. His face contorts and trembles and falls slack — not in relief but surrender. His breath starts to come in little soundless bursts, starts and stops. And in between, glimpses of Zuko taking control, inhaling and exhaling deep and slow, before another avalanche crashes over him.</p><p>Everything in Sokka wants to fix it. The desire to do something, anything, radiates out of the base of his skull like a deep, powerful drum. But he can’t. He tries to take Zuko’s hand and he’s pushed away gently. He rests it on the edge of the cloth bed instead and simply watches over him, stands guard as the sun falls into the horizon.</p><p>After Mom died he used to stay awake at night watching over Katara like this. There were other people around, Bato and some aunties, sometimes with them and sometimes with Gran helping take care of Dad. But Sokka doesn’t remember much of that. Just the light from their small fire bouncing around the walls of their iglu and Katara’s dark braids sticking out of her hood.</p><p>When he tried to sleep back then, he’d just lay awake. Sometimes empty headed and sometimes getting carried off imagining something terrible that might happen. So he looked after her while she slept, watching her twitch and murmur from her dreams, shaking her awake gently when her breath came fast and her hands started to struggle against her sleeping bag.</p><p>Sokka knows how to do this; how to sit and simply bear witness to someone’s pain.</p><p>As the hour passes, the ice in the rag melts, gradually streaming water over Zuko’s face and hair and the cloth beneath him. The strain melts away too, and he seems to come back to himself. He moves the wet rag away and his eyes blink open at the ceiling. He feels around for Sokka’s hand, takes it and finds him from the corner of his eye.</p><p>“Better?” Sokka murmurs.</p><p>“A little bit,” he answers.</p><p>“You can lay here as long as you need to.”</p><p>Zuko squeezes his hand.</p><p>It’s nearly dark again, the sound of insects rising outside the shoji and the street lamps being lit up the street. They sit for a while, listening and watching each other quietly in the fluttering candlelight.</p><p>He’s familiar with Zuko’s features: the line of his nose, the shadows of his cheekbones, the feathered edge of his scar. Now all he can look at is Zuko’s dark, watchful eye. Deep brown, the iris simply falling away into the pupil. Dark lashes that emerge from the full, flat space beneath his brow. That eye watches him.</p><p>Sokka whispers, “What does it feel like to be looked at? When I paint?”</p><p>He blinks slowly. His round lips smile, revealing pearlescent teeth.</p><p>“I look back at you,” his mouth says, flashing the tip of his tongue. “What does it feel like to you?”</p><p>Sokka hadn’t even noticed. He only sees, released from self-consciousness.</p><p>---</p><p>“See you tomorrow,” Zuko says quietly when he leaves that night.</p><p>It’s not until the next morning that Sokka remembers they don’t have a sitting today. It’s time for Sokka to make some progress on the painting, things he doesn’t need a model for: simplifying the shapes of his robes, polishing the jewels, and brushing in a background. Refining away the troublesome messes of reality.</p><p>Instead of doing that, he wakes up early and lays in bed for another few hours, not quite awake and not quite sleeping, rolling around and enjoying the sensation of his blankets against his skin. Eventually he puts his hand down his pants and once he’s sweaty and loose-limbed enough he finds it in his power to get out of bed and bathe.</p><p>He eats more congee, thinking of Zuko, remembering the face he made when Sokka revealed their meal, like it was exactly what he didn’t know he wanted. Sokka wants to put that look on his face again.</p><p>He stokes the fire in the stove until the stovetop is very hot, determined to get the yarn dyed today. The dye pot half full with water is set to heat so he fetches the sack of yellow onion skins he’s been collecting.</p><p>While the water boils, he tries to write to Suki. He sits down with his parchment and ink and when he touches the brush to paper he can’t bring himself to write a single word.</p><p>He wants to ask her if it’s wrong to just want to feel good. And to find that feeling in another person for a while. To that, she’d say no. But if he confessed it all, she’d tell him to talk to Zuko and he doesn’t want to hear that, so he puts his brush down.</p><p>The water begins to bubble and he abandons the new mess on the kitchen table to pack onion skins into the pot with a few spoonfuls of turmeric. The dye needs to boil for an hour and with the pot in no danger of boiling over, he heads downstairs to the studio.</p><p>His palette is still a mess from yesterday, the paint now dried onto the glass. He uses a flat edge razor to scrape it up, first the gummy globs which he collects in a jar. The pigments are damn expensive and he has packrat tendencies on a good day. He’ll figure out something to do with it later.</p><p>One last scraping flakes up all the thin streaks, and he gives the surface a thorough scrub with a wet rag to finish it off. The razor is put back in its place and Sokka completes his circuit of the room, landing at the window.</p><p>The early afternoon sun meets him when he slides open the shoji, singling him out with a warm yellow beam. It releases a familiar scent from the warm stone of the building and the dusty road below. The door to the spice shop opens and shuts, casting aromatics of cardamom, bay leaf and cinnamon into the air. Sokka raises his arms and grabs the molding above the window with his fingertips, stands in the light and closes his eyes, enjoying the ghostly red shapes behind his eyelids.</p><p>He remembers Zuko’s warm neck pressed against his lips. He imagines tucking a kiss beneath his ear and smelling chili and cardamom on his hair. Meeting a ruby earring and dragging his lips over the texture of his cheek. Tucking his hands under Zuko’s tunic and holding his smooth, warm back.</p><p>His gut heats, blood returning between his legs where he’s still sensitive.</p><p>Sokka opens his eyes sharply, shaking himself.</p><p>Enough of this. He needs to work.</p><p>He retreats inside, portioning out paint as his eyes adjust, the warmth of the sun still ringing across his skin.</p><p>Even though he craves it, he doesn’t touch Zuko’s face. He’s established the likeness and one more brush stroke will break the rhythm. Instead he works on the outer robes, pulls and pushes with red and deep maroon, looking back at his sketches, creating folds and crevices until they find the form of watery silk.</p><p>He takes a break after an hour, leaving the layer of paint to dry and wandering upstairs to eat and to stir the dye.</p><p>It’s about ready, looking deeply golden beneath the clog of onion skins. Sweating in the heat from the stove, he removes them with a spider and turns his attention to the wool yarn.</p><p>Most of it he’ll dye to light yellow, and the rest to shades of mustard and brown, as deep as he can get it letting it soak while the other skeins come and go in batches. He’ll be switching them out all afternoon to avoid crowding the pot and creating splotches in the color.</p><p>He retrieves armfuls of drop cloths from downstairs and lays them out in the middle of the floor in a thick layer. Next is opening the skeins of yarn into big loops, then rinsing the first batch, letting each soak in a water-filled bucket until it’s fully saturated. He lifts them out one by one, squeezing out excess liquid with his hands, and then lines them up on the length of dry fabric on the ground before crawling on the floor to roll the whole thing up tightly, squeezing most of the water into the cloths.</p><p>Sokka turns and sends the bundle unrolling across the floor with a shove and then transfers the yarn to the dye pot. It needs to boil for another half hour so he collects his jar of clothespins and climbs the stairs, passing Aklaq and Natsiq’s fourth floor apartment for the roof.</p><p>There’s a light wind at this height, above the majority of buildings between here and the sea. It tousles his loose hair and he quickly strips off his shirt so he can feel the sun and cool the damp at his lower back.</p><p>Once the pins are clipped conveniently on the line, Sokka stands around on the roof for a while. The deep golden light and the sounds of the neighborhood sink into him.</p><p>Grunts and bursts of chatter from deliverymen a few blocks over, a deep rumble as they bend their stone platform packed with barrels down the main street. A neighbor’s raccoon-dog barks as they pass and their laughter bounces along between the houses.</p><p>Sokka likes the noise. He likes it even when it keeps him up at night. It’s a comfort knowing there are people around him even if they aren’t the people he left behind in the South Pole.</p><p>Almost everything is different here. Footsteps thud and dirt slips underfoot unlike the crunch of packed snow. The smell of the ice is missing, replaced by the briney mist of the ocean. The water is noisy instead of dark and silent — a different kind of danger.</p><p>It’s a change. It’s what he needs right now. Even though his family doesn’t understand it.</p><p>---</p><p>Sokka shifts the yarn from one spot to another until late in the evening, when most of the neighborhood has gone to sleep.</p><p>He brings a load up to the roof and pins each skein to the clothesline to dry in the chilly night wind. The last bunch is hung and he turns to leave when he notices a dark figure in the alleyway.</p><p>The figure steps into the light, glances behind himself and turns the corner to the back of the building, and Sokka knows instantly from the movement who it is.</p><p>He opens his mouth to call out but stops. Instead he goes for the stairs, and emerges onto the street, pretending not to see Zuko in the shadows from the corner of his eye.</p><p>The street is deserted at this time of night. Just the sound of waves, cricket-hoppers singing in the dark. Sokka goes west, smiling at the echo of another pair of footsteps behind his. His heart pounds with anticipation.</p><p>They reach the edge of town where the neighborhood simply becomes the beach, buildings on one side of the road and the ocean on the other. There’s a long stretch of grass and shrubbage which Sokka navigates easily, laughing to himself and sneaking peeks over his shoulder as Zuko tromps through loudly behind him, cursing under his breath.</p><p>Sokka leads them to the far end of the beach. The cliffside rises up behind them now and dark rocky figures loom in the water.</p><p>He reaches a patch of fluffy beach grass and sits, waiting for Zuko to catch up. The moon is high in the sky now, illuminating the calm waves, setting a hazy glow over the sand.</p><p>Zuko collapses beside him with a sigh. “Some of those bushes have thorns.”</p><p>Sokka chuckles. “Sorry.”</p><p>“I'm sure you are.”</p><p>They watch the water for a while before Zuko turns to him, an unreadable expression on his face. Eventually he asks, “You’re okay with this, right?”</p><p>“I mean, I invited you here? Or lured you, I guess.”</p><p>He smiles and shakes his head, looking down. “Yeah, but. All of it. It’s a lot, I know.” He looks back up at him. “I just really like you.”</p><p>“I really like you too,” Sokka says, lying down in the tall grass to hide the tightness in his voice.</p><p>A weight falls over him but he ignores it. He already knows what he’s going to do. Whether it’s good for him or his career, whether he’s about to get his heart broken — he knows he’s going to and what does it matter? He’ll finish the portraits and in two weeks this will be over. He’ll go back to being alone in his blue apartment and Zuko will get married and become the Fire Lord.</p><p>“Have you done this before?” Sokka asks.</p><p>Zuko lies down on his side, close enough that the grass rises up around them both like a cradle. Sokka rolls to face him, so close he can feel Zuko’s breath on his face.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“This,” Sokka gestures between them. He wonders what the polite way is to ask if someone regularly has trysts with strangers on their travels. “Have you… been with <i>someone else</i>?”</p><p>Zuko’s face seems to… open up somehow. “Not like this,” he says.</p><p>“You mean…” Sokka trails off, confused.</p><p>“Not with someone I actually like,” Zuko says. And then all in a rush, “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”</p><p>Sokka gets the feeling they’re talking about something else now.</p><p>“You’ve never liked someone before?” he asks. <i>What about Mai,</i> he wants to say.</p><p>Zuko flushes painfully. “I thought I had,” he says, “a long time ago. But this feels different.”</p><p>Sokka lets out a breath. There are so many questions he wants to ask. But. “I think I know what you mean,” he says.</p><p>“You do?”</p><p>Afraid if he opens his mouth that he’ll admit too much, Sokka nods.</p><p>Zuko brushes the back of his fingers against Sokka’s cheek and scoots in even closer so their knees touch. “Can I just…?” he asks.</p><p>“Whatever you want,” Sokka says and means it.</p><p>His heart pounds as Zuko traces the shell of his ear, looking closely. He’s near enough that Sokka can see the sprout of his eyelashes, the tired shadow beneath his eye.</p><p>The thin skin of his eyelid shifts as he blinks and his fingers drift down to Sokka’s neck, pass over his pulse. Fingernails tap against his necklace and Zuko’s curious touch moves over the ball of his shoulder, down his arm.</p><p>He looks up and Sokka feels caught, goosebumps rising in the wake of Zuko’s fingers curling, skimming his nails over Sokka’s skin.</p><p>“I really want to kiss you,” Zuko says, gaze moving down to Sokka’s mouth.</p><p>Sokka leans in and kisses him, slightly off-center. He tries to save it by adjusting the angle but they bump noses instead. Zuko grins, right up against his mouth. It’s really no good at all. But they’re both smiling, the intensity of the moment dissolving away.</p><p>“Here, maybe…” Zuko pushes him onto his back and leans over him, messy braid falling over his shoulder. Sokka lets him do as he pleases. His hands come up to Zuko’s back.</p><p>He kisses gently and so, so slow. Soft, damp presses of his lips, turning his head one way and then the other, sipping from him. His breath dances over Sokka’s cheek, sending eddies of affection swirling through his chest. He shifts a hand into Sokka’s hair and ghosts his tongue over his lip. A shiver coasts over his head and down his spine and Sokka gasps.</p><p>Zuko pulls away and murmurs, “Is this— Am I—”</p><p>Sokka nods. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, and Zuko falls back into him immediately, settling onto him fully with one leg between Sokka’s, anchoring him to the ground.</p><p>Sokka holds him very close and their kisses deepen, carrying him away. The rhythmic sound of the ocean is a guide, the wind rustling the grass like a caress.</p><p>Zuko’s black tunic crumples in his hands. His body is so warm and so is his mouth, his tongue sliding against Sokka’s making his heart lift like he’s going over a waterfall. It all crashes back down into him and he throbs between the legs.</p><p>He can’t help it then — he kisses back urgently, his head rising off the ground. Zuko matches him, pressing back just as hard, letting out soft, desperate noises. He wants to hear more of that. He grabs Zuko’s ass, pulling him closer and Zuko rocks his hips down, trapping Sokka against the thigh between his legs, the friction ricocheting back up his spine. He has to break away to catch a breath of the cool night air.</p><p>Zuko moves to his neck and sucks a kiss under his jaw and some embarrassing sound breaks from Sokka’s throat, merging with the crash of the surf. Sokka lets himself move his hips against him for several indulgent moments before he gives in.</p><p>“Please— Can I touch you?”</p><p>Zuko lets Sokka tip him on the side and pull his leg over Sokka’s hip. He has a hazy look to his eye and his lips are so red. Sokka presses a kiss to his cheek.</p><p>He waits as Zuko reaches down and unties the knot in his drawstring with a yank.</p><p>Sokka slips his hand into his underclothes and cups his hand around him, feeling the texture of his hair in his palm, the damp heat of him. Zuko breathes shakily.</p><p>He gives him a few soft caresses through the fleshy parts of him, watching the shape of his hand move under the fabric. He moves through the wetness at his fingertips and spreads it up either side of his cock. A thrill goes through him as Zuko gasps, his hand gripping Sokka’s bicep. Sokka lifts his forehead from Zuko’s shoulder to see his face as he repeats the motion, watching Zuko blink slowly with his mouth open.</p><p>Sokka picks up the smell of him, warm, musky and human in the salty air off the ocean and wants desperately to taste him.</p><p>His fingers drift to Zuko’s entrance to which Zuko breathes sharply and says, “Not inside.”</p><p>Sokka gives him a kiss and tries something else.</p><p>The slow stroke of his fingertips over Zuko’s cock has his breath coming heavily. Quick circular motions through the hood have him gasping, chest heaving up and up before he squeaks, laughing as his hips twitch away. Soon he discovers that Zuko likes the drag of half the length of his fingers, the roughness of his fingerprint drawing over him. He tentatively rocks his hips into it and draws him closer, chokes out a sweet noise against Sokka’s cheek.</p><p>“Like that?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Zuko moans softly into his ear. “<i>Sokka.</i>”</p><p>Hidden in Zuko’s shadow, Sokka closes his eyes. The world becomes just the slick folds under his fingertips, the quiet sounds from the back of Zuko’s throat that go right to Sokka’s core, the aching between his legs, the crash of the waves.</p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” Sokka confesses. “You’re perfect.”</p><p>Zuko’s soft noises stay quiet but grow tense as his muscles do the same, his movements losing their rhythm. Sokka’s arm starts to ache but not enough to stop, and then Zuko’s legs close around his hand and he cries out.</p><p>“You like it?” Sokka asks. “It feels good?” Zuko nods jerkily against him, trembling.</p><p>Sokka keeps going as the motion of Zuko’s hips turns to twitches.</p><p>He pants against Sokka’s neck, “Don’t stop— Just—” and cups his hand over Sokka’s, grinding out his orgasm. Sokka groans softly along with him, heat melting down his spine at Zuko’s grip on him.</p><p>All at once Zuko relaxes and all his breath falls out of him, open mouth turning into a laugh. He draws away, turning onto his back and Sokka follows, drawn like a magnet.</p><p>“You good?” Sokka asks, smiling helplessly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Zuko giggles.</p><p>Sokka pulls his hand out of Zuko’s pants, moves it to his hip as he kisses him.</p><p>“You’re sticky,” Zuko complains when he pulls away.</p><p>“Only because you’re sticky.”</p><p>Zuko grins and pushes him up and up until Sokka’s straddling him. He sits up to kiss him. The warmth of his mouth is comforting, intoxicating. <i>Firebender,</i> his brain reminds him. His hands cup Sokka’s face, and he kisses Sokka like before, moving him this way and that, savoring him. A warm, fond feeling washes over him.</p><p>Sokka likes that he doesn’t have to think too hard about whether Zuko feels good, knowing he’ll make it the way he likes it.</p><p>Zuko brushes his hand over the front of Sokka’s pants and Sokka suddenly remembers how fucking turned on he is.</p><p>“Whoa,” Sokka says involuntarily, shuddering.</p><p>Zuko laughs. “Can I use my mouth?”</p><p>“Fuck yes,” Sokka says, overwhelmed. “But— sand.”</p><p>“I’ll be careful,” Zuko promises.</p><p>They shuffle around until Sokka’s on his back. Zuko tries crouching with his legs folded under him but finally settles on his stomach with his back arched and Sokka’s legs over his shoulders.</p><p>He presses kisses to Sokka’s belly and his abs jump, ticklish. Sokka reaches down and unbuttons his pants at the side and Zuko takes over, pulling down his clothes enough that he can duck his head underneath while Sokka’s bare ass rests on the long back of his tunic.</p><p>To Sokka’s relief, he doesn’t hesitate at all, parts him with his fingers and licks over him firmly, startling a moan out of him that he covers with his hand, squeezing his eyes closed.</p><p>Zuko seals his lips over him and Sokka’s heartbeat pulses where his tongue rubs over his cock, vibrant sensation sweeping through him. He dips towards Sokka’s hole for a moment and pulls away to ask, “Here?”</p><p>Sokka nearly whimpers at Zuko’s breath on him.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, feeling himself grow wetter as Zuko licks into him.</p><p>Sokka’s sweating. Zuko’s mouth feels so hot, like an electrical current running straight to his brain. He looks down to watch the movement of Zuko’s head, black eyelashes against his cheek. He clutches a hand in his hair and Zuko hums, sending Sokka’s thighs twitching.</p><p>“Fuck,” he moans into his fingers.</p><p>His heartbeat pulses in his cock at the movement of Zuko’s tongue inside him, gliding friction that sends sparks dancing into his limbs. His hand tightens in Zuko’s hair involuntarily and Zuko releases another filthy moan that ramps Sokka up even higher.</p><p>“Tui and La,” he gasps. “Fuck— oh, fuck— Please will you—” He uses his grip in Zuko’s hair to guide him up just the slightest bit.</p><p>Zuko looks up as parts his mouth over Sokka’s cock, sucking lightly and Sokka cries out, his hips rolling. Zuko follows him, keeping his mouth there and setting the soft curl of his tongue against him.</p><p>He can’t keep his eyes open after that. His mind darts desperately between sensations: Zuko’s fingertips digging into his thighs and the sand creeping up under his ass. Who cares about sand, fuck the sand —</p><p>After a few strokes, Sokka goes limp but for his toes curling against Zuko’s back and comes with a hoarse shout. The ocean roars in his ears for a few long moments. He floats back into himself, lazy, a meandering falling leaf.</p><p>Once the rush fades from his ears, he extracts his hand from Zuko’s hair and Zuko pulls away just far enough to plant wet kisses on his inner thighs. His dick throbs helplessly.</p><p>“You want one more?” Zuko asks, licking his lip absently and Sokka has to look away, heart pounding.</p><p>“Oh fuck, what have I gotten myself into?” Sokka asks the stars, out of breath, earning a gentle bite. “I would take you up on that but I definitely have sand on my ass.”</p><p>Zuko ducks out of the ring of Sokka’s clothing. “After all my elaborate planning, too.”</p><p>Zuko sits back and wipes his chin on the bottom of his shirt, giving Sokka a glimse of his stomach. He looks down at Sokka who is shamelessly lying back with his pants half down.</p><p>“How cold is the water?” Zuko asks, fingers falling to the laces of his boots.</p><p>“Pretty cold,” Sokka says. “Hey, I have an idea— You know that warm mouth thing you do?”</p><p>A smile creeps onto Zuko’s face. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Could you do that with your whole body?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And say we were both covered in sand, would you—” He breaks off laughing as Zuko kicks his boots off, stands, and shucks his pants.</p><p>Sokka kicks his own boots and pants away and falls silent as Zuko loosens the tie at the side of his tunic. The shirt slips off his shoulders and his braid falls into the divide of his soft chest. Sokka admires the smooth planes of his belly, the dark patch of hair between his legs. The narrow, cushioned shape of his hips, the muscle in his thighs, his calves.</p><p>Sokka wishes they were in his apartment, in his bed, so he could get his hands on him, feel the give of Zuko’s flesh beneath his hands and find every sensitive spot with his mouth and leave a mark there.</p><p>He shakes himself and catches Zuko looking down at him with a smile and looks down at himself, realizing Zuko’s waiting on him and he’s still on his back half-dressed. Face hot, he sheds his own tunic and then Zuko takes off in a flash, darting down towards the surf.</p><p>“Hurry up or you’ll freeze,” he calls over his shoulder.</p><p>“Like you’d let me freeze! You promised me round two!” Sokka hollers back and rushes after him, catching up and tackling him into the surf between the gentle waves.</p><p>The water is a rush of ice cold that nearly knocks the breath out of him. In an instant, the skin beneath Sokka's hands becomes almost too hot to touch, just as jarring. He breaks the surface, taking a huge breath of the night air, cool now compared to the steamy surface of the water around them.</p><p>Zuko’s head pops up, loose hair plastered to his face, laughing and sputtering as he gets a light arc of seafoam to the side of the head.</p><p>Sokka steps closer and lets Zuko grab onto him as he gets his feet under him. With his free hand, Sokka sweeps the hair back from the uninjured side of Zuko’s face and then hesitates.</p><p>“You can, just be gentle,” Zuko says, blinking a drop of seawater from his eyelashes.</p><p>Sokka plants his feet in the sand and steadies himself with a hand cradling Zuko’s neck. The scar is rougher than normal skin, but still soft. He touches him as lightly as he can and tucks the hair behind Zuko’s scarred ear.</p><p>“Not so scary, huh?”</p><p>Sokka frowns, pulling his hands away. “I wasn’t scared.”</p><p>“Okay,” Zuko says.</p><p>“Not scared of <i>you</i>. I just don’t want to hurt you.”</p><p>Some emotion Sokka can’t identify washes over Zuko’s face. His gut sinks.</p><p>“Okay,” Zuko says again, softer.</p><p>He wraps his arms around Sokka’s neck, drawing him into a hug and Sokka goes carefully. He tries to relax into it, but his muscles stay tense until Zuko pets his hand over the back of Sokka’s shaved hair and Sokka gives, holding him back. The tide pushes and pulls at them.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Zuko says suddenly, hands tightening at Sokka’s shoulders. “It’s not the first time, but I shouldn’t have assumed that you—”</p><p>“Don’t apologize,” Sokka interrupts. “You’re looking out for yourself.”</p><p>Zuko nods.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sokka says. “That I got defensive.”</p><p>Zuko tightens his arms around him and murmurs, “It’s okay.”</p><p>Sokka presses his face into Zuko’s neck. His skin is giving off waves of comforting heat, his strong arms block out the moonlight reflecting off the water. Sokka focuses on the warm current washing back and forth around him.</p><p>After a few minutes he raises his head.</p><p>“You said ‘it’s not the first time’,” he says quietly. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Zuko’s chest expands against Sokka’s arms as he breathes deeply.</p><p>“It’s not a big deal,” he says, and Sokka immediately feels him wince. “I mean— ugh.” He presses his forehead to Sokka’s shoulder.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” Sokka says.</p><p>“I want to. It’s just hard.” He breathes deeply. “People stare. Kids say things. But I’m the Crown Prince— or, um, you know. I’m royalty. So it’s a mark of bravery.”</p><p>Sokka rubs a hand over his back.</p><p>“When my dad burned me, he said it was to teach me a lesson. And it did teach me. Just not what he thought it would.” His voice is dry, monotone, like the words soak up all the emotion as they leave his mouth. “I accept it now. It’s a part of me. But for a while it was really hard.”</p><p>Zuko lifts his head to look at Sokka’s face. Whatever he sees makes his tense shoulders start to relax. “I didn’t have many friends as a kid. We were only allowed to play with the nobles’ daughters. We’re still best friends, like family.” The line of his mouth wobbles. “It was a couple weeks after my injury. I was finally allowed to get up and walk around. I let myself get excited — they were finally coming to visit me. And then… they tried to hide it, but they were scared of me.”</p><p>His mouth twitches down in a frown, like he can’t help it. Another wave passes. The water is cold.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Sokka says.</p><p>“It’s— I know they were just kids,” Zuko says. “I don’t hold it against them. I just… hold it.”</p><p>Sokka nods in understanding. “I can see why you’d be on guard with new people about that.”</p><p>“It’s not you,” he says.</p><p>Sokka pets his back again. “For the record, I think you’re beautiful. And if I’m scared at all it’s because you’re totally out of my league. Like, legally.”</p><p>Zuko cracks a smile. “Pretty sure I’m the judge of that, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Oh, you’re the judge?” Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Alright, what’s my verdict then?”</p><p>“Well I like this.” He cups his hands on Sokka’s cheeks, framing his smile. “And this.” Hands slip under the water, running over the muscles of his chest, the matching scars under his pecs. His legs come up to encircle the thickest part of Sokka’s waist and Sokka brings his hands to Zuko’s ass, shifts his weight to balance them. “Almost perfect, but…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>Zuko looks right at him, a drop of water slipping down the bridge of his nose. “It’s almost like, my mouth is lonely? It’s excruciating. Do you have any ideas?”</p><p>Sokka grins. “You’re in luck actually,” he says.</p><p>It seems like they kiss forever. Sokka only knows the rhythm of the waves, the spray against the side of his face, his chapped lips and Zuko’s hot mouth, his tongue and teeth. Zuko heats the water until the surface steams around them, pulls himself close to rub against his chest while Sokka learns the soft stretch of his back.</p><p>They kiss until a shadow falls over them and Sokka looks up and realizes they’ve drifted down into the long shadow of one of the rocky formations that rise from the water.</p><p>They walk back up the beach, shivering and kicking water at each other at first until Zuko gives in and dries himself with a burst of hot air and then gives Sokka the same treatment. Sokka holds his pruney hand the rest of the way, salt itchy on his skin.</p><p>They dress and walk back to Sokka’s apartment, just their quiet footsteps along the deserted road. It must be nearly morning by now, the moon on its way back down to the horizon.</p><p>“Can you stay?” he asks, already knowing the answer. “I have a shower,” he adds enticingly.</p><p>Zuko smiles. “Sorry. I snuck away from my guards. They’ll notice if I’m not back by sunrise.”</p><p>“Next time maybe?”</p><p>“You’ll get me one of these nights,” he promises.</p><p>Sokka sends him off with a kiss and then heads up the stairs. Impulsively, he stops halfway and peeks into his studio.</p><p>There’s the portrait on the easel. It’s dull and shadowy in the grey dawn light, but Zuko’s face still glows back at him. He closes the door and goes upstairs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>language used for body parts:</b> cock, hood, folds, entrance, hole, "inside". sokka has had top surgery and his scars are mentioned. zuko has not and is briefly described as having a soft chest.</p><p><b>smut spoilers:</b> about a third of the way through the chapter, sokka masturbates as he wakes up in bed. this is not shown in detail.</p><p>in the last third of the chapter, they have sex for the first time on the beach. sokka touches zuko with his hands, and zuko gives sokka oral sex. zuko asks sokka not to touch him "inside" which is respected and not framed as a big deal.</p><p>if there's anything else you think should be added to this description please let me know!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It’s cold again, the kind of cold that steals body parts.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter 3 a day early!</p><p>thank you all so much for the comments on the last two chapters! tbh i've been anxious about posting this, it's my first time writing anything of substance and your feedback has been so encouraging. my heart is so full hearing what parts stood out to you and aspects you like about the story! i'll do my best to keep replying to all the comments i get in between editing the future chapters.</p><p><b>content warning</b> for this chapter: sokka has a nightmare about a past trauma and we delve further into mental health issues with dissociation, negative self talk and the like. be aware and take care of yourself.</p><p>if you would like summarized spoilers of the smut scene in this chapter and language used for body parts, please see the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s cold again, the kind of cold that steals body parts. </p><p>Sokka’s furs feel huge and heavy and make it hard to move, and he’s still cold. All he can see in any direction is white, not even his own footsteps to guide him. He chooses a direction randomly and takes one step after another until his legs feel numb.</p><p>The snow crunches under his boots and the wind whips past him, whining and howling, taking on a new voice as he walks. At first he can barely hear it — just a flutter of sound that grows into shouts and cries. Familiar voices, men and women.</p><p>He breaks into a run into nothingness, just the biting wind in his face, the bright snowglare stinging his eyes. Breath burns in his lungs— </p><p>Then, thank La, the outer wall of the village. </p><p>He approaches and finds it has partially collapsed, smothering a row of tents. He creeps past them, past melted iglu and tents with the leather ripped away, bare stakes sticking up from the ground like bones of a flayed carcass. There is ash everywhere, in the snow and falling from the sky. He can hear their voices, but there’s no one, the ruined village completely empty.</p><p>He comes to their house, the only one standing. There’s no fire inside, no light peeking around the edges of the leather door. Just darkness. He opens it.</p><p>Inside is Katara, young again, kneeling silently. In front of her is a form he can’t decipher, a black burnt shape spread over the ground. </p><p>She reaches toward it and it gives a shudder, collapsing into grit. Katara pulls her bare hand back holding something. Between her tiny fingers, black with ash, is a flat blue stone. A sounds rings out — a deep groaning that he feels in his bones, like a glacier preparing to calve —</p><p>Sokka struggles awake, breathing sharply and reaching out around him before he can even open his eyes. He feels the familiar blankets, the wall. Made of wood, not ice.</p><p>He drags his eyes open. His blue apartment. The kitchen at the far end. The door to the bathroom. His sandy clothes on the floor. He puts a hand on his gasping chest and feels himself breathe. He’s alive. </p><p>He bursts into tears, bent over his lap. </p><p>It’s not real. It’s not real anymore. </p><p>He cries until snot runs down his face and tears soak into the blankets. </p><p>Part of him feels far away, watching himself. He feels the sobs from his throat, the ache in his chest, the burning behind his eyes. He cries until he feels empty, and then that far away part of him takes over. </p><p>He takes a few deep breaths and drinks some water with his head under the spout. Scrubs his face, brushes his teeth, bathes the foul nightmare sweat off himself. He takes a few more deep breaths and leaves the bathroom.</p><p>The kitchen is a disaster. There’s pots all over the cold stove, dishes in the sink. The remains of the dye project — cloth, spices and buckets covering the table. He needs to bring the yarn in before the color fades out of it in the sun. He would cry again at the thought of all his hard work going to waste but that part of him isn’t here.</p><p>Forget preparing a meal. Sokka eats half a loaf of honey bread on the floor, pulling off chunks of cake and dropping crumbs everywhere. He turns his back to the kitchen mess. It can wait. He needs to finish the portrait before Zuko and his entourage come to see the finished thing tomorrow morning. </p><p>His eyes unfocus somewhere among the crumbs on the floor. Thoughts leave his head. For a long time, he sits. He looks at that crack in the floorboards. In filters the dryness of his eyes, the ache in his lower back from hunching over. Eventually he thinks about getting up but nothing happens. <i>Stand up. Sit up straight. Get up.</i> Nothing happens.</p><p>His stomach starts to ache. <i>Put your hand on the floor,</i> he commands. <i>Put your hand on the fucking floor you</i> useless<i>—</i> Finally, his hand obeys. <i>Now turn onto your knees.</i> He goes. One step at a time he stands and it’s easier from there.</p><p>---</p><p>The painting stares at him. Sokka stares back with his chest cracked open. His palette lies beside, a fucking mess again, wasted paint again because he never came back down once Zuko showed up last night. He sits on the floor and stares down at the dark wood between his bare feet, feeling numb and thinking about nothing. </p><p>Eventually he forces his eyes back up to the stone. It looks awful. He combs over it and can’t pick out what. Something in the… proportions. Planes and forms, colors one next to the other. It all becomes muddled, just an unbearable feeling of wrongness swirling around in his head. </p><p>It doesn’t matter what he feels. He’s not the one who decides if it’s satisfactory or not. And besides, there’s no time to start over. It’s almost done anyway, he just has to finish today and face his fate.</p><p>He gets up and scrapes his palette, letting the dry paint fall to the floor. This afternoon the background, final touches tonight. And then no touching it. Actually, no looking at it at all just to be safe. If he lets himself look, he knows the stone will be broken into shards by the time Ikue arrives.</p><p>Sokka chooses his colors and a big square brush and blocks in the background. He doesn’t think. He just paints. Stroke after stroke, mixing and marking. When he finishes the blue walls, the panels of the shoji, cuts in and neatens the Fire Lord’s silhouette, he looks up and realizes hours have passed. </p><p>He straightens his back, wincing. It’s okay. He did it and now he can just rest until it dries enough to go back in tonight. </p><p>He stretches out his arms and massages his hands before he does anything else, because even if he's an idiot, he's at least that smart. And then he shuffles to the shoji, slides it open and lays on the floor in the late afternoon sunbeam hoping it will revive him. All the warmth does is make him remember that he fucked the Crown Prince yesterday. Tui and La, fucking curse it all.</p><p>Why does he do these things to himself? This is going to blow up and when it does it’ll haunt him forever. He hasn’t learned a thing from what happened in the North Pole.</p><p>He didn’t really expect Yue to break her engagement for him, did he? Was he really so selfish back then? She made the right choice of course. She wouldn’t be the girl he loved if she hadn’t chosen her duty. But there’s a teenager inside him still that hurts and believes that the real reason was because he wasn’t good enough.</p><p>Sokka imagines for a moment that he isn’t a painter. That he has no ties to anyone or anything. That he can do whatever he wants, go wherever he wants. Get on a boat with nothing but his clothes and turn his back on all of this. Disappear. </p><p>Obviously he can’t, and it wouldn’t solve anything anyway. He cares too much about the people back home and these people here, the new community they’re making together. It would just be another heartbreak.</p><p>And while he’d shed it off himself if he could, he’s a painter too. Not just by trade, but… but in his <i>inner fire,</i> as Zuko says. His fire wants to paint and he can’t ignore it. He has to be where there’s paint and canvas, paper and compressed charcoal sticks. And beautiful people to fall in love with— and whatever happens after that. He wouldn’t know.</p><p>Sokka sits in it, feels it all. And then packs it away into a box inside him with all the rest of the junk.</p><p>He goes back to bed soon after that and doesn’t dream at all, or doesn’t remember. It’s all the same to him. </p><p>---</p><p>Around midnight Sokka wakes up foggy headed with his skin crawling, and frantically cleans the kitchen. Pots are scrubbed mechanically, brushing back and forth, suds building under his hands. The work in his arms as he sweeps the floor feels good, and by the time he rescues the yarn from the roof and has a decent meal the fog starts to clear.</p><p>Katara’s letter is still downstairs on his desk. It hurts his heart — she thinks he’s too busy to visit like he’s some hotshot artist that’s too good for them now. Really he’s the opposite: too fragile. He’s afraid he’ll set foot on the glacier and crack into a thousand pieces, a painted stone tablet dropped on the floor.</p><p>He should tell her. Maybe not the whole truth, but he should tell her something. It’s impossible to imagine. He’s the one that takes care of <i>her.</i> She’s a grown woman now but she’s still his baby sister, his to protect. </p><p>He needs to get his head out of his ass and be the older brother she thinks he is. He’ll try to write her after he’s done tonight.</p><p>Sokka brings his candle down to the studio and uses it to light a few more to spread all around his easel. He picks up his stool and moves it a couple cart-lengths away and sits, and looks.</p><p>The painting is quiet for a long time. </p><p>Then gradually his missteps rise to the surface like little bubbles from the dark, still ocean. Shadows that trespass where they shouldn’t, errors in his forms, places where he guessed instead of deciding. </p><p>When he’s sure he’s caught it all he approaches again, matches colors and corrects with thick, purposeful brushstrokes. Darkens the hair, adds a dot of highlight to the Fire Lord’s eyes. At last, when he wants to add one final mark, he stops instead. </p><p>It’s finished. </p><p>---</p><p>Sokka tosses and turns until sunrise, and then gives up and gets dressed. He goes down to the studio and sits at the desk, his back to the painting, forbidding himself to look at it.</p><p>He tries to draw for a while but his hands are shaking. Shallow breaths rattle in and out of him.</p><p>He’s afraid to reveal it only to notice an obvious mistake. He’s afraid to reveal it and show some piece of himself in it he didn’t mean to show. He’s afraid Zuko will hate it. He’s afraid Ikue will hate it and he’ll have to give the money they advanced him back when he’s already sent most of it back home.</p><p>He stares at his hands, flat on the desk. Familiar ridges and creases. The mole by his wrist. Tendons, delicate shifting bones, short pale fingernails and ragged skin around from washing brushes. He breathes. In and out.</p><p>Noise filters in from the open window. Neighbors talking, footsteps, carts rolling past. Soon there’s a hush followed by the creaking of a wagon. Shuffling. The rasp of Zuko’s voice, too quiet to make out the words. </p><p>Sokka pushes his hands into the desk and stands. </p><p>The guards clunk up and stop lining the stairs. Zuko, Ikue and her assistant come up between them to the landing. He’s in heavy robes again, deep reds lined with gold, but simpler than what he wore to sit for the portrait. A smaller crown but with a piece of jewelry, a fine net of rubies laid over the top of his hair.</p><p>“Prince Zuko,” Sokka greets formally with a bow.</p><p>Zuko returns it with a spark in his eye. “Nice to see you again, Sokka.”</p><p>Ikue clears her throat and Sokka steps aside, welcoming them in. </p><p>“Have you finished the portrait?” she asks. </p><p>“Yes, it’s finished.” Sokka leads them to the easel and finally lets himself look. </p><p>The visage is soft, red and yellow of Zuko’s robes brushing muted blue walls. Contrast brings the eye to Zuko’s face, his hair and his dark eye against pale skin. He looks on, kind and regal. One hand clasps the other in his lap, the tips of his tapered fingers peeking out. The crown drips rubies, shines in warm light from the bright-windowed shoji; the fierce-faced dragon guarding his hair bears its golden teeth. But most forward, aside from the Prince himself, is the yellow robe and the gentle strokes of white that coalesce into the embroidered pond scene.</p><p>Zuko grips his hands tightly in front of him. Sokka doesn’t dare look at him.</p><p>“It’s…” Zuko says.</p><p>A moment passes, excruciating. His heart in his throat.</p><p>Then Ikue says, “It’s perfect.”</p><p>She waves and her assistant procures an envelope which she hands to Sokka. He accepts it, head bowed. When he straightens, she’s smiling kindly in a way that changes her whole face. </p><p>“When they first hired you, I didn’t know what to expect,” Ikue says. “It’s hardly traditional.”</p><p>That’s right. The palace of the Fire Lord has resident artists, one family that passes down the honor of painting royalty, a kind of royalty themselves. To branch out to a new artist, a new style and convention, is unheard of. <i>Was</i> unheard of.</p><p>Ikue glances at Zuko fondly. “I spent my life studying to paint you. But Fire Lord Iroh was right of course. It’s time for a new tradition.” </p><p>Sokka’s heart jolts. </p><p>Before he can think to say anything, she turns back to him, falling back into her polite, neutral expression. “The Crown Prince’s betrothed arrives this afternoon. She will meet you at the usual time this evening. I’ll leave you for now.”</p><p>With a nod, she goes, followed by her assistant who closes the door behind them.</p><p>For a moment Sokka doesn’t dare to break the silence in the room.</p><p>His heartbeat starts to slow and he admits, “I had no idea it was her.” </p><p>She must have painted Fire Lord Iroh’s coronation portrait, probably Ozai’s as well. Perhaps she painted Zuko throughout his childhood, watched him grow up by her brush. Now he’s getting married and the honor of his wedding triptych went to someone else. Sokka can’t even imagine.</p><p>“Uncle chose you,” Zuko says, “but she had the final decision. However she felt about it, she agreed.”</p><p>That’s a relief. And he’s not fired. </p><p>But the most important judgement still hangs in the air.</p><p>Sokka takes a deep steadying breath. “So, how is it? Be honest,” he says.</p><p>“I look...” Zuko trails off, body turned toward him, but still staring at the painting. Like he can’t look away.</p><p>The moment seems to drag on forever. Zuko’s hand twisted in the sleeve of his robe. Unreadable expression. And the breath that he lets out before he finally turns his head toward him.</p><p>The intensity of his gaze hits Sokka like a wall, ramping up his heart, the anxious noise in his ears.</p><p>Zuko takes a step towards him. Then all at once Zuko is in his arms. </p><p>Sokka stumbles back a few steps into the desk but holds him to his chest, and Zuko rests his chin firmly on Sokka’s shoulder.</p><p>“You like it?” he dares to ask.</p><p>Zuko nods, releasing a shaky, warm breath against his neck.</p><p>Sokka’s heart is raw. He lets himself soak it in like a balm: Zuko’s arms around him, the new familiar smell of scented oil in his hair, eyelashes tickling his neck. Zuko likes the painting. It’s too much to hold onto.</p><p>His hands rise to the back of Zuko’s intricate hairdo and pull him in for a kiss. They breathe the same air for a moment and Zuko grants him a look into his eyes. He’s entranced by it. Tenderness wobbles in Sokka’s chest. </p><p>Zuko’s kiss is like calm waves on the shore. He meets him like a caress, again and again. It’s sweet and like the tide, comes and goes, recedes and builds, and soon Sokka opens his mouth to him, wanting to be as close as Zuko will let him.</p><p>He feels lost but safe — washed away from shore in a trustworthy vessel. </p><p>He’s pressed against the desk, Zuko’s hands rucking up his tunic. The noise of the street registers again. Zuko’s guards are right outside the door.</p><p>“Can I go down on you?” Sokka whispers, holding his waist tightly through the thick layers of fabric. “Can you be quiet?”</p><p>Zuko takes a sharp, excited breath and nods against Sokka’s cheek.</p><p>“I can be quiet,” he says, grinning. Excitement swells in Sokka’s chest.</p><p>He spins them and as soon as Zuko leans back on his hands atop the desk, Sokka falls to his knees and pulls Zuko’s pants and undergarments down. He grips his hands in Zuko’s muscular thighs, kissing his way up them, testing his teeth gently in a mouthful of soft flesh near the crux of him.</p><p>La, he’s so warm. Damp heat coming off him, his scent intoxicating. He’s overwhelmed and Zuko arches his hips, baring himself. Sokka ducks fully under the robes and closes his eyes, giving in to the velvety dark.</p><p>The anxious part of Sokka that slinked around all day retreats at the taste of him. Coating his mouth— the slip of every fold and peak. The twitch of Zuko’s thighs, his abs, even the ghost of hot inner muscles twitching against the flat of his tongue. Musk on soft, coarse hair, rubbing over his cheeks, his chin. He’s lost in it, in the movement of his head, his jaw, the rhythm of Zuko’s hips meeting him. </p><p>After some time, light breaks again. Zuko bunches up the fabric toward his heaving chest, slouched back with his neck arched, his chin nearly touching his chest. His hair is a mess, cheek flushed and mouth hanging open silently. Staring hard right at him, into him, dark eye turned fully black. And then fingers in his hair, too far gone to be careful, tugging on him, pulling him in. </p><p>“Please,” Zuko whispers. “Sokka, please, I feel so—” Sokka swirls his tongue over him and he grits his teeth as his thighs tremble. “That feels so good,” he gasps.</p><p>Satisfaction blooms in Sokka’s gut. He is ravenous for more of that feeling. </p><p>It pushes his hands from Zuko’s thighs up under his broad sash, petting his chest, dragging fingers over his sensitive nipples. And when Zuko’s heavy breath starts to stutter, dancing like he’s struggling to keep his voice in, that empathetic pleasure turns in on itself, billows and settles like mist, releasing him from any thought but the rhythm and suction that have Zuko throwing his head back and choking down a moan.</p><p>His thighs close over Sokka’s ears like they did around his hand at the beach. Sokka holds him tight around the waist, sucking his swollen cock, and when he starts to twitch Sokka doesn’t stop, holds onto him until he’s cutting off sounds in his throat and grabbing him, his eyes squeezed shut.</p><p>“Fuck, Sokka,” he pleads, as quietly as he can. He pants rapidly, quick bursts of breath. “Fuck, fuck— Please don’t stop—”</p><p>Sokka doesn’t — he goes on in earnest, sweat beading at his temple, his tongue and jaw aching. Zuko arches into him and jerks hard away again and again, pulling Sokka with him by the hair, and then finally, painfully, arcs up against him and comes again, shaking like he might never stop.</p><p>When his thighs go lax, Sokka laps him up, dragging his tongue over him before too much can seep into his inner robe. Zuko trembles and clamps his mouth shut on a groan that echoes in his chest. His hands draw away, up somewhere, and finally Sokka sits back on his heels and catches his breath.</p><p>The fresh ocean air from the open windows cools the wet on his face. He breathes in, and exhales hot every bit of tension in him. His heart pounds in his chest and for a moment he has to close his eyes, the sensation too much.</p><p>The moment passes and Zuko’s hand falls on his head again, gently. Sokka lets him draw him up to his feet, his knees sore from the hard floor.</p><p>“Kiss me,” Zuko says, and Sokka does.</p><p>His swollen lips ache and Zuko kisses him gently, soothes him with soft strokes of his tongue.</p><p>Suddenly there’s a knock. </p><p>Sokka jumps away from him, hiding in the curtained corner of the room while the door creaks open a crack, just enough for a guard’s voice, “Your Highness, your meeting with the ambassador at the Capitol building?”</p><p>“Yes, I’ll be out in just a minute.” His voice sounds entirely professional.</p><p>The door closes. Sokka peeks out and finds Zuko hiking his robes back up from where he had dropped them to hide his pants around his ankles. Sokka wets a couple of clean rags and wipes his face with one quickly, and with one last glance at the closed door, brings the other out to Zuko.</p><p>Zuko’s brow furrows at the sight of him and he brushes past the rag and takes his hand instead. “Hey, are you okay?” </p><p>Sokka looks down and realizes his hands are shaking.</p><p>“I...” His heart is pounding, but it’s been pounding. And there’s a jitteriness, kind of everywhere. He feels lightheaded. “I probably just need some water.”</p><p>“Here.” Zuko pours for him from the jug on the desk, watches him while he drinks and after Sokka chugs it down, pours him another cup.</p><p>He looks like he wants to ask after him further, but instead he tidies himself and redresses.</p><p>“Sorry that you have to go sit in a meeting after all that,” Sokka says.</p><p>Zuko smiles apprehensively. “I’ll live. Where should I…?” He holds out the bunched up rag in his hand and laughs through his nose when Sokka takes it and just tosses it on the floor. </p><p>“Do I look presentable?” Zuko asks, smoothing his hands over his hair.</p><p>There’s nothing to be done about his flush, his kiss-bitten lips, or the mussed hair caught in his net of rubies. So Sokka simply gives him a kiss on the cheek, takes in the warmth of his skin and the flutter of his eyelashes.</p><p>“You look perfect,” he says as he draws back, and stores away Zuko’s embarrassed, pleased look as well.</p><p>"Thank you." He gives the back of Sokka’s neck one last stroke and then they head to the door before a guard can knock again.</p><p>Sokka opens it for him, hiding as much as he can behind it. If Zuko’s dishevelment isn’t enough, Sokka’s would surely do them in.</p><p>“See you soon,” Zuko says as he passes through, looking back over his shoulder. “Oh— about Mai. If you can’t think of anything to talk about, ask her about her knives,” he adds, and goes.</p><p>---</p><p>Sokka tries and fails to force his anxiety into the background. There’s a residual something from whatever is to blame for his shaking hands, but it’s totally eclipsed by a sudden, frantic need to impress Mai. After washing thoroughly upstairs, he comes back down to the studio to tidy up.</p><p>He shoves the loose papers on the desk under the cover of a spare notebook, stacking it along with sketchbooks in a vaguely organized way. The pitcher gets filled with fresh water, and he moves his mess of paints back to their place in the back since they’ll only be sketching today.</p><p>The wooden box gets moved to the other side of the stool, so Mai’s portrait will mirror Zuko’s. He even has enough time to scrounge around for a piece of soft seal-lion leather to place under Mai’s elbow, because he’s not going to have a repeat of that situation.</p><p>Eventually he spots the broom in the back corner and sweeps all the dust into little piles around the room that he has no dustpan for. He squats over one pile in defeat. It must be a metaphor for something, but he’s not feeling particularly poetic at the moment.</p><p>Mostly he’s wondering how this works with them exactly. If Mai hates him, does that call the whole thing off? If all this were separate from his job, would he be meeting Mai at all? In a way it feels inappropriate — more inappropriate than just hooking up with his boss, but meeting his future wife after. Maybe it’s a royalty thing. The Prince’s dates have to be vetted by someone. Obviously Mai would want to do that if they’re… sharing.</p><p>Embarrassed, he shakes away the train of thought and sweeps all the dust into the corner behind the door, and stashes the broom again. He needs to stop thinking before his traitorous brain gets him into even more trouble.</p><p>He sets up his easel to draw with the large paper pad, his charcoal set and a rag. By now the light has begun to deepen, and soon enough the recognizable sound of guard’s boots echo up the stairs.</p><p>Sokka opens the door, revealing Ikue and a woman who can only be Mai.</p><p>She is tall, taller than him, her face long and angular with dark, perceptive eyes and even darker hair woven into a decorative style atop her head. </p><p>Most striking is her disconcerting intensity. He’s almost bowled over by it. She draws his eye like a magnet but is entirely reserved. Taking everything in and letting nothing out she doesn’t want him to see.</p><p>“Sokka,” she greets with a nod. Her voice is low and dry, like the wind over late summer grass, meandering and dipping into words at her leisure.</p><p>“It’s an honor.” Sokka bows formally. Something changes in her face at that, but he can’t pinpoint what.</p><p>“I hope these robes will be satisfactory,” Ikue says, gesturing to Mai, who sighs. “There wasn’t time to commission a new garment.” </p><p>Mai’s robes are in a different style than any of those in Zuko’s closet — a deep red high-collared formal tunic and a flowing skirt tied at the waist that brushes the floor. Over it is an open robe with broad sleeves and edges lined in a broad strip of embroidered gold fabric. The result is layers and layers of silk and long decorative ties that pool around her narrow silhouette.</p><p>The colors are a little dark, but Ikue’s taste is impeccable and the flowing, buttery fabric will look amazing.</p><p>With a nod to her, Sokka leads Mai into the studio and closes the door behind her. </p><p>“I assume this one’s mine,” she says, stepping onto the dais. </p><p>“It’s almost like you’ve done this before,” Sokka remarks, trying to match her energy. He finds his place at the easel and takes up his charcoal while Mai falls into her pose easily, like she could make herself comfortable anywhere.</p><p>“Many times,” she says. “Let me guess, Zuko was freaking out.”</p><p>“A little bit, yeah.” Sokka smiles, remembering. “He told me he met with the Fire Lord’s painter friend to know what to expect.”</p><p>Mai exhales heavily through her nose in amusement. “Yeah. He’s like that.”</p><p>Sokka gets to work familiarizing himself with her face. Her cheekbones are prominent, but broad rather than sharp like her narrow chin. There is a crooked plane to her long nose, a lone mark of asymmetry in her face. As he watches her, he notices the expressive slant to her mouth which shows more than her body language does. She holds herself casually but underneath that, unusually still. Relaxed and then frozen into place.</p><p>“Are you comfortable?” Sokka asks after a few minutes.</p><p>“As much as I can be,” she drawls. “There’s so many pins in my hair I feel like a boar-cupine.”</p><p>Sokka snorts, his charcoal skittering across the page. He clears his throat in an attempt to bring back his professional guise. He didn’t expect her to be <i>funny</i>. Well, he didn’t know what to expect of her at all. He tried not to.</p><p>He evaluates the stray mark he’s made. It’s time to move on to the full sized sketch anyway.</p><p>“Zuko’s only complained about the jewelry once, but it was very strongly worded.”</p><p>Mai rolls her eyes. “He has it easy.”</p><p>“Well, you certainly have a lot more going on,” Sokka says, frowning at his paper. </p><p>Her hair is so dark it’s a little hard to discern what exactly is going on with it from over here. </p><p>He starts there on the full-sized sketch: a smoothed arc of hair pulled back from her forehead, and two similar wings on each side. The sections come together somehow behind the extravagant piece of goldwork on the crown of her head, a dragon like Zuko’s, but hers stretched out as if in flight. From the dragon’s mouth come a half-dozen strands of rubies, like a waterfall of fire down one side of her head. Above it rises her top knot, speared with jewel-adorned hairpins.</p><p>“Can I see the back?” Sokka says suddenly. He stands from his stool and approaches before she can move, not willing to disturb her pose. </p><p>The side sections combine with the lower part to form a twisting loop that is unarguably beautiful but doesn’t seem, well, possible.</p><p>“How do they make it do that?” he asks, realizing he’s leaned in a little too close when she throws him a look over her shoulder. “Oh, sorry.”</p><p>“Ugh, I don’t know,” she says. “I think they sew it.”</p><p>“Not <i>into your head</i> right?” he jokes as he makes his way back to the easel. After the closer look, he can plot the shapes of her hair easily. </p><p>Mai’s mouth twitches. “They would if the blood wouldn’t ruin the custom robes.”</p><p>“I dunno,” Sokka wonders. “With some planning the blood could be part of it.”</p><p>“Maybe a thousand years ago. These days blood reminds them of their mortality, not their strength.” She speaks like someone who’s not bothered by such a thing at all, and suddenly Zuko’s comment about Mai’s knives makes a lot more sense.</p><p>“I’d have thought the Fire Nation would be hyped up on bloodlust after ten years with no war.” He keeps an eye out for her reaction.</p><p>She raises an eyebrow. “Yep. They're hoping for an assassination.”</p><p>Sokka freezes. </p><p>“Right,” he says. Royalty sure is intense.</p><p>He returns to his work quietly and is surprised when Mai speaks again.</p><p>“So. You and Zuko.”</p><p>Oh. So they are going to talk about it.</p><p>“Yeah?” he wavers. He loses track of the shapes of her hairpiece with the way his heart rate has suddenly picked up.</p><p>“Don’t be like that,” Mai says, annoyed. “Zuko can do whatever he wants.”</p><p>Sokka looks up from his paper. He kind of got that impression but now he’s curious.</p><p>“I wasn’t sure if…”</p><p>“If you had my permission?” Her eyes narrow.</p><p>“No— Well. Zuko mentioned, but I wasn’t sure… what that meant exactly.” </p><p>“I want Zuko to have what makes him happy.”</p><p>Oh. But— “What about you?”</p><p>“I get what makes me happy too,” she says, as if it’s obvious, as if it’s that simple. </p><p>And maybe it is. In a political marriage it would likely be expected for the pair to do whatever they like on the side. Does the Fire Nation even do arranged marriages? For the soon to be Fire Lord in the first time of peace in three generations, of course they would. They couldn’t leave the future of the monarchy up to love’s whim.</p><p>A sharp relief runs through him, cold like a blade. He’s been telling himself exactly this. It's just fun until Zuko goes back to the Fire Nation. A tiny part of him still kind of hoped, maybe— but now he knows for sure, and there’s a comfort in that certainty. Right now he’s what makes Zuko happy, and when he doesn’t anymore they’ll send him away.</p><p>Sokka forces himself to finish up the sketch as the light starts to go. His gut is heavy as he rises to walk Mai out, but she doesn’t follow. </p><p>“Can I see the painting?” she asks instead.</p><p>He leaves her to retrieve it from the back. He sets the frame on the easel and brings over a candle from the desk. Mai stands and looks for several long, silent minutes. </p><p>Sokka can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. About the portrait, about the whole situation. Is duty such an important value in the Fire Nation like it is in the North? Sokka has never understood why someone would sign away their entire life. But everything might be different if he were actually in their place, forced to agree for the future of his village. </p><p>He can’t decide whose place he’d choose if he had to. This, being left behind. Or being tied forever to an unknown.</p><p>Finally, Mai sighs.</p><p>“Is it okay?” Sokka asks quietly.</p><p>“He looks like his mom,” she says.</p><p>Sokka’s mind goes quiet with confusion. “What do you mean?” How does she know what Zuko’s mom looked like?</p><p>“It’s a good thing.” She doesn’t look at him at all, all her attention on the painting. “With the hair and the crown and everything, he was worried he would look like his father.”</p><p>The man who burned his son’s face to teach him a lesson.</p><p>“He’s nothing like his dad," Sokka insists. "I’ve known him for a week and even I can see that.”</p><p>Mai nods in agreement and after one last look, turns for the door. </p><p>Instead of saying goodbye, she says, “Nice to meet you, Sokka.”</p><p>---</p><p>Preparing this tablet is exactly like the last.</p><p>Or, not exactly. Even a slab made from the same rock is not identical. There’s that part of it — hauling his treasure from its dark home inside the earth. There’s the subtle changes between small batches of primer. And there’s him. Is his arm sore from helping Pamiuq bring his groceries up yesterday? That will affect how he brushes down the stone, applies the primer. </p><p>For that reason he can’t imagine preparing his surface ahead of time. Knowing his subject, not just who it will be but having sketched them, holding the pattern of their features in his muscles. It affects the way he creates the base he will paint on. </p><p>Not in any spiritual kind of way. Purely factual, physical. Preparing the tablet after the sketch, the night before he paints, is not superstition no matter what Suki accuses him of. It simply makes for a better painting. </p><p>That night, Sokka stays up while the paint dries.</p><p>He watches out the window for a while. A salty breeze flows in from the ocean, ruffling laundry on the roof of the building across the way. He waves to neighbors when they spot him from the road and slowly the passerby dwindle, windows darken. The streetlamps burn down as do his own candles and he sits, watching the stars and the outlines of bird-bats flitting about in the sky. </p><p>He half expects Zuko to show up but he doesn’t. Sokka’s heart, too tired to fight, simply oozes some sticky, painful feeling.</p><p>There’s a comfort to it — knowing how this is going to play out, knowing how much it will hurt and in what places. </p><p>When the worst of the pain from Yue passed, a kind of hidden treasure was left behind — a realization of how fragile he is, how easily his confidence could shatter. A good thing to know, especially for walking into the same situation all over again. He wonders what will be left behind after all this. </p><p>He presses his hands to his face. That’s enough moping. </p><p>He clambers to his feet and tests the primed surface with his finger. The paint he saved from Zuko’s portrait is sealed up tightly in a jar and revives easily with a bit of turpentine. He uses the brown shade as the ground for Mai’s portrait. The paintings will be tied together this way, even if no one but him knows it. </p><p>The sun rises. He can’t sleep until he eats something and he can’t muster the energy to cook. Instead he loads the yarn onto his back to deliver to Yuka’s fiber shop on his way back from the restaurant, once it's not so early and the town starts to wake. </p><p>Gamya seems to be awake all the time. Sokka has never seen the window of her shop dark despite the strange hours he keeps. The roasty steam of her chicory root tea washes over him as he passes through the creaky door to her shop.</p><p>“You’re up early,” she says as he enters. </p><p>She’s seated at one of the small tables in the dining area. He can smell the seasoned stove heating in the back, preparing for the breakfast crowd.</p><p>“So are you,” Sokka says. “Technically I’m up late. I never went to bed.”</p><p>She tsks, even though he’s sure she’s done the same.</p><p>“That’s no good for you. Your brain is still growing.”</p><p>“And what about yours?”</p><p>“I’m getting old, mine will shrivel up in my head no matter what I do.”</p><p>Sokka laughs. “Who are you trying to fool? You’ll be sharp as a blade until you’re a wrinkled old sea prune.”</p><p>She smiles and stands, setting her cup down with a clack. “So you admit that I’m right. Come learn a thing or two, kiddo.”</p><p>In the kitchen she entrusts him with a bowl of fermented, sour-smelling batter and the tawa heating on the stove, low rimmed and nearly as broad as the length of his arm. Sokka’s done this dozens of times before — if he’s learning something, it’s not how to fry dosa. </p><p>He does as he’s told, ladling a spoonful of batter to the center of the pan and swirling the bottom through it around and around until it forms a thin layer over the hot surface. He watches closely until it’s cooked through and golden on the bottom.</p><p>He makes one for each of them as Gamya toasts whole spices in oil beside him, filling the room with the scent of cumin and mustard. Sliced green chiles and onion join them and get mixed into soft cooked potato, bright gold from Aklaq and Natsiq's turmeric. Last is a handful of herbaceous green cilantro leaves, so tempting that Sokka sneaks a few sprouts into his mouth alone. </p><p>Then they work together, Gamya flicking a generous scoop of filling onto each dosa and Sokka rolling them up and slicing them down the middle.</p><p>They settle at the table, Sokka bringing out the food and Gamya following with cups of hot, spicy sambar.</p><p>She bites into her dosa as soon as she sits, the crunch all Sokka needs to know he’s done his job right. </p><p>“Good?” he asks, picking up his cup of stew.</p><p>She smiles. “Just like my grandmother used to make. You’re learning fast.”</p><p>He’s heard the story of her family recipe half a dozen times. Her mother is from the Northern Water Tribe and her father from the south of the Earth Kingdom at the edge of the desert, just across the strait from the Eastern Air Temple. Her great-grandmother was an Air Nomad — it was common back then, before the war and everything that was destroyed with it. Meanwhile, traditions combined and melded and were passed down in their new form, food the most earthly and tangible of all. </p><p>“That’s why I cook Desert food for the Water District,” she once said. “I’m both and I’ll share all of me. That’s that.”</p><p>He sips a mouthful of sambar: fragrant and hot, salty, spicy, coarse with mashed lentils, coating his tongue with layers of flavor. It’s wildly different from anything they eat in the South. But it represents care and love, made to nourish and become a part of him.</p><p>He washes their dishes while she finishes her tea and finally she shoos him out when the first of her customers arrive. He’s tried staying to help her out before, but she called him “worse than a polarbear-pup”, apparently for chatting too much and getting underfoot.</p><p>Sokka drops off the yarn with Yuka and walks home with his head held high, following his shadow flitting over the worn road.</p><p>---</p><p>He naps and wakes up in time to scrub every inch of himself clean. </p><p>Between his toes, inside his belly button and ears, flosses and brushes his teeth and tongue and the roof of his mouth. He slathers lotion on his arms and legs, the scars on his chest, his belly, the spot between his eyebrows that gets dry sometimes. </p><p>The oils soak into his skin as he takes stock of the kitchen. There’s a few pieces of fruit on the edge of overripe that he eats immediately. He’s dying for some smoked fish — but that’s too big an undertaking for just his two fillets. Sokka is the only one from his village living here, but there is a family from one of the other Southern villages who would probably like some too. He’ll talk to Qimmik, the butcher, about going in on a big batch for this month’s full moon festival.</p><p>He eats and dresses quickly. His head feels clearer than it has in days.</p><p>Mai seems nice enough, and honestly their marriage is none of his business. He knows where things stand and he’s more than capable of setting his personal feelings aside to do his damn job.</p><p>Downstairs, he sets up his easel: tubes of paint, brushes, rags and palette. He lights the candles and freshens the jug of water. </p><p>He opens the door when they arrive, ready to make conversation with Mai about her knives, and behind it is— Zuko. He’s not dressed as formally as Mai, but still in his crown, clearly supposed to be doing whatever Crown Princes do.</p><p>“I couldn’t shake him,” Mai sighs, presumably in response to the look on Sokka’s face.</p><p>Zuko frowns at her before directing his attention to Sokka. “Is it okay if I join you? I was hoping I could watch you paint.”</p><p>Saying no is obviously not an option since Zuko is kind of his boss, but even then because he’s so polite and earnest about it. This is going to be the longest session of his life.</p><p>Mai enters first and goes for her stool, while Zuko hangs back. As soon as the door shuts, he pulls Sokka into a hug.</p><p>“Hey,” Zuko says quietly, smile in his voice.</p><p>“Hey,” Sokka returns. He closes his eyes and takes him in for a moment. But just a moment.</p><p>He forces himself to pull away, turning back to the room. “Let me grab you a chair.”</p><p>There’s an extra stool in the back but he thinks the desk chair is more comfortable with a back to lean on. He puts Zuko behind and to the left of him so Zuko can watch him mix colors and won’t be in the way of his view of Mai.</p><p>On the dais, she’s taken up her pose already.</p><p>“Just going to arrange your clothes a little if that’s okay with you,” he asks her.</p><p>As he turns and folds the ends of her skirts and her sleeves, she says, “This must be the flirting you were talking about.”</p><p>Sokka looks up sharply, but Mai is looking at Zuko, who has turned bright red.</p><p>“Mai,” he says, betrayed, his mouth hanging open like a fish.</p><p>Sokka stifles his laugh and asks, “How much detail did you give her exactly? And when?”</p><p>He scowls. “An appropriate amount!”</p><p>“He’s been writing me all week,” says Mai. “And that’s debatable.”</p><p>“Your messenger hawk must be exhausted,” Sokka says, climbing back to his feet. “Lay it on me. I want to hear his version of the story.”</p><p>“Shall I start at the beginning?”</p><p>”Start wherever’s the juiciest.”</p><p>“Mai, do not—”</p><p>“It’s a whirlwind romance, you’ll have to be more specific.”</p><p>Sokka makes it to his seat just to look at Zuko over his shoulder. “You’ve really talked me up.”</p><p>Zuko remains bright red, although now glaring at the ceiling like he can bend himself an escape hatch through it with his eyes alone.</p><p>“Relax. You’re the one who wanted to tag along,” Mai says, looking bored but for the glint in her eye.</p><p>“It’s sweet.” Sokka places his hand over Zuko’s knotted in his lap.</p><p>Zuko looks down his nose at him.</p><p>“You’re insufferable,” he shoots at Mai, who snorts.</p><p>“Alright.” Sokka takes his hand away and picks up his palette. “Let’s get to work.”</p><p>He narrates his process as much as he can without getting distracted, although he does go on a tangent about color that has Zuko leaning forward in his seat and placing a distracting hand on Sokka’s shoulder. But he manages to lay down a decent first layer of paint in between Zuko’s thoughtful questions. </p><p>“It’s getting too dark, see how much this shadow here has grown? We’ll stop for now to let this layer dry.”</p><p>“It looks just like mine did at this stage.”</p><p>“Yes, and that’s key. Not to get discouraged at the blob stage.”</p><p>“As fascinating as this is, I’d rather stretch my legs,” Mai says. “I won’t wait up. Don’t have too much fun.” She gives Zuko’s shoulder a pat on her way out.</p><p>The door shuts and Zuko’s face is bright red again.</p><p>“Wow, she really has your number, huh?”</p><p>“Huh? Oh. I guess you could say that,” Zuko says, mouth twisting. </p><p>A moment passes, charged with Zuko’s nervous mood. </p><p>“I’m glad you came,” Sokka offers.</p><p>“Really?” Zuko’s face starts to relax. “That’s good. I had to reschedule a dinner with the Fire Nation councilman.”</p><p>“You did?” Sokka says. Obviously Zuko didn’t stay out with him all night out of convenience, but bailing on a meeting? “Why?”</p><p>Zuko reaches for him hesitantly. “Because I missed you.”</p><p>He thinks back to the last time they met in this room: the desperation and how affected he was afterwards. He’s a little embarrassed, but he liked it. He likes Zuko. And he’s tired of dissecting all the reasons this isn’t going to work out. He’s been pulling himself away so he doesn’t get hurt. But it will hurt no matter what. He wants to feel the good part as much as he can.</p><p>“I missed you too,” Sokka says. He squeezes Zuko’s hand back. “Hey. Would you help me draw something?”</p><p>Zuko relaxes further. “Yes, I would love that.”</p><p>Sokka moves his drawing set to the desk and sets up the chairs so Zuko can see everything as he works, sat at the corner of the desk. His sketchbooks are still stacked up to one side and he pulls the largest one from the bottom, half bulging with watercolor-warped pages. </p><p>Flipped to a fresh page, he leaves the book open on top of the desk and turns to Zuko.</p><p>“Get comfortable, I just need to grab something,” he says and goes to the back for his pastels.</p><p>When he returns, Zuko’s taken off his crown, his hair mussed and falling over his shoulder. His outer robes are pooled around him in his chair and his pants scrunched up to his knees, baring his slim ankles and narrow bare feet pulled up so he can sit cross-legged.</p><p>“How’s this?” he asks. The candlelight dances over him, parting the dark shadows in the room and clinging to his nose, his brow, the high points of his cheeks. Something about it reminds him of that night in the alley.</p><p>Sokka leans in to kiss him. He sucks at Zuko’s lower lip gently, kisses him until he’s leaning forward into it, his hand holding Sokka’s forearm. When Sokka pulls away, Zuko looks hazy and flushed with his hair falling into his face. </p><p>“There,” he says, shifting so he’s holding Zuko’s hand atop the desk. “Stay just like that.”</p><p>He takes up his compressed charcoal, sketching with the sharp corner, turning it on its side to fill in the large shadows, the black of the room.</p><p>The candles burn low as he works. Without a word, Zuko pulls his hand away and ignites a flame in it, holds it in his lap. The world, small in the dark room, condenses further until it encompasses only Zuko and the spirited flame in his hand casting him in orange.</p><p>Sokka lays down his orange, peach, red, gold against the deep black. Zuko’s bright face, hair melting into the dark. The shifting vines of his neck, his curving collarbone, narrow fingers. The fine hair on his legs, his knobby toes.</p><p>It’s finished when he can’t keep his hands away anymore, laying his tools down to touch him. His hand slides up Zuko’s leg, from the smooth top of his foot to his wrinkled cotton pants, and soon he’s crawling into the chair with him, into his lap.</p><p>Zuko’s arms wrap around him and the world goes dark.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>language used for body parts:</b> folds, cock</p><p><b>spoilers for smut scene:</b> after sokka shows the painting to zuko, they are left alone in the studio with the guards waiting outside. sokka gives zuko oral sex while they have to stay quiet. sokka feels emotionally vulnerable and finds the act soothing, and he doesn't want it reciprocated although he doesn't communicate this. after they finish, they are interrupted but not actually caught. </p><p>if there's anything else you feel should be added to this, please let me know!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Today the world takes on a strange kind of clarity. He doesn’t dare think a single thought. For once, he doesn’t think at all.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for the literal fade to black last chapter, cheesy but it felt right!</p><p>if you would like summarized spoilers of the smut scene in this chapter and language used for body parts, see the end notes. previous chapters have been updated with the same deal.</p><p><b>content warning:</b> this chapter shows the aftermath of another of sokka's nightmares about a past trauma, including grief and emotional distress. please be aware and take care of yourself!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sokka’s spent an hour moving paint around when he leaps to his feet in frustration.</p><p>“Uh oh,” Mai intones.</p><p>“Unfortunately, ‘uh oh’ is right, Mai,” Sokka mopes.</p><p>This is not a psyche-circling-the-drain kind of problem, but a problem that could actually impact his life. Physically. A Mai’s-portrait-looks-like-a-smudged-up-mess kind of problem. And he is definitely not on a first name basis with Mai, now that he thinks about it.</p><p>“I mean, your— your royal betrothedness. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to call you, it was very unclear.”</p><p>“Either is fine,” she says, and Sokka can tell she’s amused by the microscopic quirk at the corner of her eye.</p><p>“That’s exactly the problem,” he thinks aloud. “It’s your face!”</p><p>“Don’t complain to me about my face. It’s your job to make me look good.”</p><p>Sokka scoffs. “It’s not about making you look good. I could do that in my sleep.”</p><p>“Okay, I get it, you’re a prodigy or whatever.”</p><p>He is very much not, half his issues stem from that. He just works hard.</p><p>“Stop pacing, you’re giving me a headache.”</p><p>Sokka tries to stop pacing but his legs continue regardless. It’s not about making her look good, it’s about making her look like <i>her</i>.</p><p>He mutters to himself, “This is a third act problem, so my real issue must be in the first.”</p><p>He pounces on his stack of sketches and flips through them as Mai huffs and mutters, “You sound like Zuko.”</p><p>“Huh? What?” Sokka tilts his head towards her while he investigates his drawings. They’re smudged from sitting on top of each other. He usually doesn’t bother preserving them, or need to look at them a second time at all for that matter. Whatever— it’s exactly as he thought. He is fucked.</p><p>“That’s all it takes to get your attention? Just say ‘Zuko’?”</p><p>He looks up and finds Mai examining her nails, not paying attention to him at all.</p><p>“What are you talking about? I’m trying to fix your painting so I don’t go over deadline and get fired. By the Fire Nation! The actual country!”</p><p>He may be a little bit upset actually.</p><p>Mai fixes him with a glare, and holy shit, he has never seen an expression that dire on anyone in his life.</p><p>“Don’t yell at me,” she says, as firm and immovable as those ridiculous statues Toph keeps making of herself in increasingly inconvenient places.</p><p>Sokka backs down immediately. “I— That is fair, I’m sorry,” he says. “For the record, I didn't mean to yell. I have a natural exuberance.”</p><p>He could see her rolling her eyes about now if that wouldn't interrupt her pinning him in place with them. “Without yelling or <i>exuberating,</i> what is the issue?”</p><p>“My sketches are bad,” he whines.</p><p>“You’re the artist, how bad can they be?”</p><p>“Inaccurate, empty, shitty. Useless.” He collapses onto his stool, gripping the stack of streaked parchment in his hands.</p><p>The sketch, the drawing— it’s the base of everything. If the drawing is off, the painting is off. There are things you can get away with in the name of style or subverting convention. But there are fundamentals, essential elements that even a layperson will notice, even if they don’t have the language to pinpoint it.</p><p>“The point of all this is for the portrait to look like you,” he says, gesturing to the stack with one hand, “and this doesn’t.”</p><p>“Shouldn’t you have noticed that two sittings ago? How long are you gonna make me sit here?” Mai lets out a rough breath of exasperation.</p><p>Maybe Sokka is being dramatic but he is only acting as dire as the situation feels.</p><p>“That’s not helpful.”</p><p>“Honestly, this is not my responsibility. And the longer I’m stuck here, the longer I’m across an ocean from my girlfriend, so you’re gonna need to get it together.” She aims a flat look at him. “Plus, this is getting hard to watch.”</p><p>That is interesting information that he will ponder over later when he’s not about to spiral into a burnout in the middle of this very important job.</p><p>She is right. He is faceplanting towards failure and he needs some kind of rope to grab onto to haul himself up before he falls into the mud pit full of snakes— <i>enough distracting metaphors.</i> How can he fix this?</p><p>Well. Third act problems require first act solutions.</p><p>“I need to draw you. A lot.” Sokka braces his hands on his knees. “Can you clear your afternoon tomorrow?”</p><p>—-</p><p>Mai clears her afternoon and shows up to the studio with a guard holding a wooden case the length of her forearm.</p><p>“I’ve had enough of looking at the wall,” she explains. “And you’re the one who didn’t do your homework.”</p><p>Sokka desperately wants to leap to his own defense here but he’s seen Mai in action and that will only get him mocked even harder.</p><p>He draws her sharpening her throwing knives, eyes narrowed in concentration. She handles them fearlessly, clearly knows what she’s doing and relaxes as she applies the oil and polishes them, releasing a sigh for each blade.</p><p>He draws and draws until a light hits him in the eyes out of nowhere. He looks up to find Mai catching the bright afternoon sunlight on her dagger, a tiny smirk to her mouth. Sokka draws that too, smiling back involuntarily.</p><p>“So,” he interrupts the silence. “Knives.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“You… collect them?”</p><p>“I throw them, mostly.” She replaces the dagger and picks up a smaller weapon, a shiny steel petal that looks like it could slice to the bone with minimal effort.</p><p>“No stabbing?” Sokka pushes away the memory of Zuko’s dagger pressed against his neck.</p><p>“Stabbing is messy.”</p><p>“I bet throwing is more fun.”</p><p>“It can be.”</p><p>Sokka tries to decipher the look on her face. Something flat — but not an absence. A present emptiness.</p><p>“It’s not anymore?” he tries.</p><p>She crosses her arms. “A game isn’t satisfying when you know you’ll win every time.”</p><p>It’s the same with painting, Sokka thinks as he gestures her posture with loose, flowing lines. As frustrated as he is right now, he knows how good it will feel when he cracks it. His paintings will hang in the Fire Nation palace and in 70 years when her face has changed, any passerby will be able to recognize the portrait is her just by her essence. He only has to name what that is first.</p><p>“I know someone you could train with,” Sokka offers.</p><p>“I don’t need to be <i>trained.</i>”</p><p>“You wouldn’t be the one being trained.” He sets his sketchbook aside. “My friend runs an earthbending academy. I’m sure her students are tired of dodging rocks. Maybe they could stand to dodge some blades.”</p><p>There it is — that interested glint in her eye.</p><p>“Sounds urgent,” she drawls.</p><p>"It is. The goal is to teach them to bend metal. You might want to get in there before you're the one dodging knives."</p><p>Her face morphs into her restrained take on delight. He soaks it up studiously. He probably won't ever get to see it again.</p><p>“You’ll have to give me the directions, since you’re so busy with my portrait," she orders,</p><p>Sokka jots down a map obediently. “Tell Toph I said hi.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p>Sokka gives himself a break to ignore the problem and finds that the dark robes are working out more beautifully than he could have imagined.</p><p>Zuko’s formalwear is perfect for him, but Mai's maroon robes lighting up like burning embers makes Sokka doubt even that choice for a moment.</p><p>The effect is doubled by the gold inner lining, slivers of it peeking out around Mai’s wrists and ankles. The contrast between dark and light brings the eye right to her face, to the puzzle he’s supposed to decipher for the canvas.</p><p>Sketching helped but after Mai leaves for the Metalbending Academy, Sokka stays up late moving paint around. He works and reworks it and each time it falls flat. His confidence drains from him with each attempt. She looks empty. In reality her reserve ripples with life, and if he can’t capture that then he doesn’t know why they hired him.</p><p>The door creaks open behind him and he starts.</p><p>“Sorry,” Zuko says, creeping into the room and closing the door behind him.</p><p>Sokka puts his brush down, tossing it away from him onto the side table.</p><p>“Walking in like you own the place now,” he says, and clarifies immediately: “I’m just kidding, I’m glad you’re here. If I keep working on this tonight I’m going to destroy it.” Then he’d really be fucked.</p><p>“Need a distraction?”</p><p>“Yes. Please.” He needs to stop thinking. When he gets too close to it— that’s when he ends up turning and turning, chasing his own tail like a snowshoe-hare-dog.</p><p>Zuko comes up behind him and says nothing about the state of the painting and Sokka finally lets the tension out of his shoulders.</p><p>“Want to go swimming?” Zuko asks.</p><p>Sokka shakes his head, his wolf tail brushing against Zuko’s arm. “I’m too tired.”</p><p>“How can I help you?” Zuko asks quietly.</p><p>Sokka sighs and tips his head back to look at him. “Make me stop thinking about this.”</p><p>“Easy,” Zuko says.</p><p>Apparently when Zuko said he never learned to cook, he meant he never learned to cook <i>anything</i>, because while Zuko insists on feeding him, it’s the middle of the night and everyone is asleep — besides Gamya maybe, but Sokka’s not ready to bring him there. They end up on the floor of his kitchen munching on this and that from the ice box.</p><p>“I’ll go to the market with you tomorrow,” Zuko says as they finish off the last of his fish and fruit and whatever veggies they can eat raw.</p><p>Sokka’s eyes snap up from the moon peach he’s slicing up. “Tomorrow morning?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “I have a free morning. I think they figured out that if they don’t give me time off I eventually just don’t show up to a meeting.”</p><p>“Tomorrow.” A little jolt of excitement goes through him. There’s so many things they can do between now and tomorrow.</p><p>“Yeah.” Zuko catches the look Sokka’s giving him and a smile creeps across his face. “Tonight and tomorrow.”</p><p>Sokka bites his lip, and loosens a slice of moon peach from the pit. He offers it up, holding it between them and when Zuko moves to take it from him, Sokka quickly pops it into his own mouth.</p><p>Zuko squawks, making a face.</p><p>“Oh did you want some?” Sokka asks.</p><p>Zuko scowls. “I thought you wanted me to stay the night.”</p><p>Sokka laughs, “Is that a threat?”</p><p>“Maybe it is.” Zuko props his chin on his hand, elbow balanced on his knee. “Be nice.”</p><p>Sokka can be nice. He’ll be <i>so</i> nice.</p><p>He pulls another slice from the peach and brings it up to Zuko’s mouth, who takes it with a pleased little smile. He feeds them both alternating bites and eventually finds himself in Zuko’s lap, smiling into peachy kisses.</p><p>“Come on, I’m sticky,” he protests, leaning in further as Zuko kisses his neck. The sticky hands in question hover awkwardly in the air behind Zuko’s head.</p><p>Zuko makes a considering sound. Goosebumps fly over Sokka’s scalp as Zuko works a mark into his neck, the feeling sizzling down his back.</p><p>He rocks against him, toes curling away from the floor.</p><p>“Shit—” He overbalances and tips Zuko backwards, sending them both over with a thud. Thankfully with Sokka’s hands caught under Zuko’s head. Ow.</p><p>“Shhhhit.” Sokka pulls his chin away from Zuko’s collarbone. That had to hurt. “Sorry, are you—”</p><p>Zuko laughs, one side of his mouth caught by his scar. “It’s— I’m okay,”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yes,” he sighs. “Help me up and you can wash your hands.”</p><p>He lifts his head enough for Sokka to pull free and heave him up to his feet.</p><p>“You’re really okay?” Sokka asks, turning on the kitchen sink. All he can see in his mind is Zuko’s face scrunched up in pain on the floor of his studio. If they could prevent that, that would be ideal -- an understatement.</p><p>Zuko leans against the counter next to him. “I’m sure.”</p><p>“We can go lay down. Would that help?”</p><p>“Help what? I’m fine.”</p><p>“Promise?”</p><p>Zuko pokes him in the side and Sokka yelps, splashing himself with soapy water.</p><p>“Hey,” Sokka whines, looking at the wet spot on the front of his tunic.</p><p>“I promise,” Zuko says. “I’m not— well, I’m fragile but I’m not that fragile.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Sokka wipes his hands off on the sides of his shirt.</p><p>“Yeah. I can take more than that.”</p><p>Sokka looks up. Zuko’s looking a little too innocent.</p><p>“What happened to ‘be nice’?”</p><p>“Who said that? Wasn’t me.”</p><p>Sokka shakes his head in disbelief. “Okay, I see how it is.”</p><p>He sidles up next to him, holding Zuko’s gaze and watches as Zuko’s eyes track down to the mark he left on his neck. There’s a flush on his cheek, his jaw shifts. And when he’s thoroughly distracted, Sokka reaches out and pinches him in the ribs.</p><p>Zuko yelps, “You!”</p><p>“Me?” Sokka feigns, holding his hands up innocently. “I’m just trying to dry my hands--”</p><p>Zuko laughs breathlessly, holds a hand out defensively between them as he maneuvers out of the corner of the kitchen. “Dry your hands?”</p><p>“Yeah, my shirt’s all wet ‘cause you splashed me, so.”</p><p>“You— I had nothing to do with that!”</p><p>“Nothing? <i>Nothing?</i>” Sokka lunges again and Zuko shouts with laughter, darting away from him.</p><p>Unfortunately, or fortunately maybe, the apartment is very small and the only place to go is the opposite corner towards the bed. Sokka tackles him onto it face-first, and then gives him a moment to get his elbows under him so he can breathe.</p><p>“You ready to confess?” he asks.</p><p>“Um,” Zuko says, turning his head to the side to peek back at him. “No, I don’t think so.”</p><p>“Hm, that’s too bad,” Sokka says, sits on his hips and tickles him.</p><p>Zuko shrieks and laughs and struggles under him, wriggling and bucking and Sokka fumbles to stay on him, laughing in his ear. He’s smiling uncontrollably, so big his face hurts, even when an elbow swings back wildly and almost nails him in the chin.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Zuko laughs. “I confess!”</p><p>“Good,” Sokka says, ceasing his tickling and smacking a kiss on his cheek. He lets his hands lie flat against him instead, feeling his abs twitch and relax as he settles.</p><p>Zuko sinks fully into the bed, catching his breath and Sokka takes the chance to sit up again, his chest heaving.</p><p>His own breath starts to come back to him and he realizes-- this is fun. He’s having fun. For the first time in a really long time he feels happy and light, no heaviness lurking in his chest. He’s sort of surprised. He started to think he wouldn’t ever get to feel like this again.</p><p>Dazed happiness rolling around in his chest, Sokka can’t help but slip his hands under Zuko’s shirt and smooth his hands over his back. His skin is soft, with the occasional bump and spot, and so warm. It feels good to touch him, so he does.</p><p>After a minute, Zuko murmurs, “Now what are you going to do with me?” He peeks back out of the corner of his eye, cheek ruddy, puffs of breath fluttering the mess of hair loose from his braid.</p><p>All matter of images flicker behind his eyes, phantom sensations on his hands, in his mouth. Mostly he’s enjoying this, sitting above him, straddling him.</p><p>“Depends how nice you want me to be.”</p><p>“Maybe… not entirely nice,” Zuko admits.</p><p>A smile sneaks onto Sokka’s face without permission. “Not entirely, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Zuko turns his face back into the blankets.</p><p>“Don’t be embarrassed.”</p><p>“I’m—” Zuko starts to rebut but goes limp instead.</p><p>“How about— I try something and you tell me if it feels good?”</p><p>Zuko turns his head again to peek at him and bites his lip. “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay,” Sokka says. “Arms up.”</p><p>Zuko lifts his arms above his head, reaching up towards the pillows. Sokka wrangles Zuko’s shirt off him and tosses it aside, revealing the long stretch of his bare back.</p><p>His shoulder blades shift as he folds his arms under his head, tender forms moving under his skin. Sokka presses the pads of his fingers there, feeling for the muscles he’s studied from diagrams, finding sore spots and rolling over them to see what will happen. Every gasp, stuttered breath and sigh he savors like a sweet thing melting in his mouth.</p><p>Soon enough his arms get tired and Zuko’s skin is pink from the friction of his fingers. Sokka bends down to kiss the top of his shoulder and Zuko makes a soft noise, turns his head, revealing the curve of his neck.</p><p>Sokka’s heart starts to beat faster as he moves into the space Zuko made for him, kissing up his neck and behind his ear. Zuko’s even warmer now. The heat that seeped into Sokka’s hands feels just as good against his mouth.</p><p>“Good?” Sokka whispers.</p><p>“Yeah,” Zuko says breathlessly and pushes his ass back against him.</p><p>Sokka aches between the legs, but it still feels far away.</p><p>Instinctively he shoves back, pinning Zuko’s hips to the bed.</p><p>“Oh,” Zuko sighs, eye squeezed shut as Sokka grazes his teeth over his ear.</p><p>Sokka feels some space opening up in him, a hole torn open in his chest. But it’s not empty, it’s full of... something.</p><p>He sets his teeth in Zuko’s ear and Zuko gasps wetly.</p><p>That. Whatever that is that makes him feel like he’s fucking starving.</p><p>He gets a hand down the front of Zuko’s pants and it all spirals out from there.</p><p>There’s the arching of Zuko’s back, the flutter of his pulse. He drags his nails over Zuko’s side, pink lines spring up on his skin following the raw noise that scrapes from Zuko’s throat. His own self falls away, everything besides the encompassing thud of his heart which races in his ears.</p><p>He likes that Zuko’s hoarse sigh comes from Sokka’s thumb over his nipple. And he likes that Zuko cries out when he pinches.</p><p>He likes controlling the tempo -- teasing when he wants to hear Zuko complain and then beg, rolling his hips to no avail. And finding that rhythm, that perfect pace to watch the flush rise in the back of his neck, his fists tighten in the sheets, feel thighs twitch around his hand.</p><p>He’s in charge of it and it feels vulnerable. He has to make it good. It surprises him how easily it comes.</p><p>Sokka pulls back when Zuko starts to burn too hot underneath him, tipping them on their sides and yanking Zuko’s pants down to open him up to the cool air. He gets their heads on the pillow, his arm under Zuko’s neck.</p><p>He starts up again, parting Zuko’s legs with his own, pressing against his back almost half on top of him. Whispers— something, he doesn’t know, against the sensitive spot underneath Zuko’s jaw that makes sounds come out of him on every breath. And when the familiar tremble starts in him, Sokka sets his teeth on Zuko’s ear again and holds him tightly around the middle as he moans and comes, shivering and twitching in Sokka’s arms.</p><p>It is vulnerable, and when he does it right and Zuko slumps into the bed with a gasp, the tremble he sees in Zuko’s hands becomes a shiver down his own spine.  The satisfaction is enough to make him forget about the throb between his legs.</p><p>“Sokka,” Zuko pants.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Sokka,” he repeats, sweeter.</p><p>Sokka goes to him, thinking <i>how do I deserve to see him like this?</i> Strange and kind Zuko, curled up with his face pressed against Sokka’s chest.</p><p>Sokka pets his back and waits for his own heart to slow as Zuko comes back to himself. Candles flicker their shadow onto the far wall — one dark shape containing the two of them.</p><p>“Thank you,” Zuko says, blinking. “But you are so mean.” He rolls onto his back and starts to kick his legs haphazardly, trying to get his pants off.</p><p>“You mentioned,” Sokka laughs. Maybe he pulled him back from the edge one too many times. He stands and helps him, yanking him towards the end of the bed in the process.</p><p>Zuko’s happy flush starts to veer on red. “Sorry. For calling you names.”</p><p>“Call me anything you like,” Sokka leers. “I know how you really feel.”</p><p>Zuko kicks his unfreed leg, thwapping Sokka across the stomach with his pants.</p><p>“We were both there, you don’t have to— brag about it—” He struggles against Sokka’s grip on his ankles, laughing despite himself.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I brag about making the Fire Lord wake the neighbors?”</p><p>Zuko gapes like a fish. “I’m not the Fire Lord,” he settles on.</p><p>“Right, of course. Future Fire Lord.”</p><p>Zuko shakes his head, but points his face towards the ceiling and submits to Sokka removing his pants at last. He tosses them aside as Zuko makes himself comfortable with a luxurious full body stretch, flexing his toes, arching his back, all the way to his fingers which reach up into the cool space beneath the pillow. He’s taller than Sokka by enough that his feet almost fall over the edge.</p><p>A confused expression ghosts over Zuko’s face and Sokka knows what’s about to happen a second before it does.</p><p>Zuko pulls a bundle wrapped in purple satin from beneath the pillow. Well, from its spot wedged between the straw mattress and the bedframe where Sokka normally puts it. He doesn’t exactly have a lot of storage space.</p><p>Zuko’s expression moves to curious at whatever he sees on Sokka’s face.</p><p>“What is it?” he asks.</p><p>Why is Sokka so embarrassed? They just had sex!</p><p>“It’s, uh...” he stalls for a moment before giving in. “You can open it.” He flops back down next to Zuko in defeat.</p><p>Zuko unrolls the package in his lap, hidden at this angle. There’s a little intake of breath and then Zuko looks at him over his shoulder.</p><p>“You weren’t going to share this with me?” he prods with a little smile.</p><p>Ugh, he’s unbearably cute. Now, of all times.</p><p>“I— no?” Sokka says. “You don’t like that.”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant.” The fabric gets tossed to the side and Zuko rolls on top of him, his slender fingers grasped around the glass dildo.</p><p>His meaning becomes clear as he settles between Sokka’s legs, laying his weight against him. There’s a swirl in Sokka’s gut, dark and sweet. He’s so turned on it hurts.</p><p>“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding quickly. “Let’s do that.”</p><p>Zuko strips him of his pants and undershorts, unties his belt and persuades him out of his tunic. And then they’re naked together, on dry land, in the light of the candles by his bed.</p><p>Zuko sits back on his heels with the glass dick in his hand and looks at him.</p><p>On his back with his legs spread, Sokka feels more naked than naked. One wrong twitch of his face and Zuko might see right into his head; the thoughts he can’t bear to say out loud or put to paper even just for himself. If he makes way for a drizzle, out will come a torrential rain. Or worse, Zuko will see into him and simply find him lacking.</p><p>Zuko lays the piece of glass on the crook of Sokka’s hip, warm from his fire. The energy, the warmth off of him grazes his inner thighs.</p><p>“Will you show me how you like it?” Zuko asks.</p><p>The blood roars in his ears. He can’t let Zuko in his head, but in his body is close enough. He can get away with that, can’t he?</p><p>Sokka beckons him closer, breath trembling. “Come kiss me.”</p><p>Zuko kisses him and touches him softly, over his arms, the front of his belly, rakes his fingers through the curls between his legs. The bittersweet feeling in his chest turns and turns.</p><p>Sokka holds him close when he falls to the side, and they watch down the length of his body as Sokka lays his fingers over Zuko’s and shows him how to touch his cock.</p><p>“Like that?” Zuko asks. The question sounds innocuous, like they could be doing anything else and it sends a rush to his gut.</p><p>“Y-yeah,” he gasps, pulling his hand away as Zuko continues to motion, warming him hotter and hotter.</p><p>He turns his head the slightest bit to catch a glimpse of Zuko’s face. He’s flushed, dark eye bright and looking down at his hand with such intensity that Sokka has to close his eyes against it.</p><p>“Look at me.”</p><p>Sokka does as he’s told.</p><p>Zuko’s face is right there, unbearably earnest. Currents of pleasure sweep through him like a gentle, noisy brook.</p><p>“You feel so good,” Sokka says, heart twinging. His face goes hot. Saying the easy thing and meaning another.</p><p>Zuko kisses him deeply, sliding his tongue inside like he’s trying to soak up the affection Sokka won’t let past his lips. He can’t help his hips from arcing up to match Zuko’s fingers, faltering slightly when another wave of arousal floods him.</p><p>His orgasm is right at the surface after having Zuko all pliant and sweet underneath him, and after being touched just right for a couple minutes it overflows effortlessly. He falls limp and comes with a stuttering moan.</p><p>Zuko works him through it. Without pausing he strokes his fingers down to Sokka’s entrance. His chest heaves.</p><p>“Zuko,” he pants.</p><p>He looks up expectantly, biting his lip. His fingers stroke through Sokka’s folds, avoiding his oversensitive cock but maintaining the rolling pleasure thrumming through him.</p><p>“Fuck, you are so sneaky.” Sokka sucks in a breath at two of Zuko’s fingers slipping inside him.</p><p>Zuko smiles against his chest. “I’m not sneaking, I’m learning.”</p><p>A bit of wetness drips down towards his ass at the idea: Zuko studying him, fucking him with his fingers, unaffected. But he so clearly is — the flush down his neck, the way he looks up periodically for approval.</p><p>“I can’t fucking handle you,” Sokka groans.</p><p>Zuko turns into him, tucks his head into Sokka’s neck. “You like it?” he asks hopefully.</p><p>“Yeah, I like it.” Sokka spreads his legs further to the slow, hot slide of Zuko’s fingers. He hesitates and then says, “I like <i>you</i>.”</p><p>Zuko lets out a soft sound through his nose, curls into him further with his whole body, even his hand, the heel coming up to brush over Sokka’s cock.</p><p>“Ah,” Sokka inhales. “Okay, okay,” he mutters to himself, pats around for the dildo that has rolled off into the sheets somewhere. “Get the oil, over there,” he directs Zuko to the side table.</p><p>A scoop of the coconut oil which would usually take a minute to soften between Sokka’s hand and the toy, turns to silky liquid in Zuko’s cupped palm. He spreads it over the curved glass until it’s shiny and rivulets threaten to drip onto the sheets. Not a single part of him cares about making a mess right now.</p><p>Zuko takes his place kneeling up between Sokka’s legs again, Sokka’s hips tilted up, knees splayed over Zuko’s so he can see.</p><p>Zuko hands the dick back to him and he hesitates. It’s easy when Zuko is taking his secrets from him. Freely giving them away makes his heart beat rapidly in his throat, makes his tongue feel heavy in his mouth.</p><p><i>What he can get away with revealing</i> feels less and less complete. In fact, the opposite is true. These days he finds himself looking hard for what he can get away with keeping to himself. What can he omit to avoid exposing his tender heart to the open air? The greedy terrified monsters inside him gobble up more and more, leaving him with nothing. Nothing worth sharing, nothing worth being. Nothing but these moments Zuko steals while they aren’t looking — the pearl of goodness left in him.</p><p>“Let me see you,” Zuko asks.</p><p>It’s the only thing he can give and Sokka wants to more than anything.</p><p>The blunt head of the toy is only a little wider in diameter than two of Zuko’s fingers, but he’s not in the mood for it very often. It catches him off guard — his breath punches out of him as the first couple inches slide in. He relaxes bit by bit and finally the curve opens him, slips in all the way to the flat base and he lets out a sigh.</p><p>Zuko’s hand slides from Sokka’s thigh to his lower belly.</p><p>“What does it feel like?” he asks quietly.</p><p>Sokka clenches down on it — solid and unyielding. His breath starts to come faster. Zuko stares down at him heavy-lidded, his lips parted.</p><p>He feels raw, like the fresh air on new skin, the way Zuko always leaves him.</p><p>Sokka reaches up and grabs the end of Zuko’s braid and tugs. Zuko falls over him onto his elbows. He strokes his fingers over Zuko’s face — the tip of his nose, his chin, his red-bitten lower lip.</p><p>His eyes widen as Sokka pulls his jaw open and slips two fingers into his mouth.</p><p>He drinks in Zuko’s shocked noise, strokes his fingers over his silky tongue. The temperature spikes in his mouth suddenly — just cool enough not to burn him — and steam pours from Zuko’s nose and from the space between his fingers. Zuko stares into him deeply and Sokka clenches on the perfect curve inside him.</p><p>Sokka sinks a third finger into his mouth to feel more of him. He’s fascinated by the blunt peaks of his teeth. Zuko’s eyes fall closed and he swallows, leaning into the motions of Sokka’s hand.</p><p>“You like it,” Sokka murmurs, not asking.</p><p>Zuko inhales sharply and gives a little nod. His hips fall against him, rocking up against the back of Sokka’s hand. He shudders at the heat against his knuckles that shoves his hand tighter against himself. Just one layer apart, narrow bones and coursing blood between them.</p><p>Zuko hums as if hearing his thoughts, the buzz echoing through his fingers. Sokka marvels, feeling him from the inside. The liquid twitch of Zuko’s tongue, his breath, his voice against his fingertips.</p><p>He’s a delicate thing, a tower of weak points the same as him, and still so incredibly kind and open, letting Sokka inside him even if only for a short while.</p><p>Maybe Sokka’s doubts are right. He isn’t good enough and soon enough Zuko will realize it, if he doesn’t leave him behind first. But this feeling is too alluring -- a beautiful pain, like pressing on a bruise. What it means to have made connected with someone, to have reached out into the dark with the hope of someone reaching back.</p><p>“That’s what it feels like,” he says.</p><p>Zuko sucks him deep one last time and then Sokka pulls his fingers free, tugs him in and kisses him desperately, arms wrapped around his shoulders.</p><p><i>I want you. I want you.</i> Sokka tries to tell him, his self control unraveling, opening up for him— kissing him deeper, parting his legs, gasping when the glass shifts inside him.</p><p>“Show me how,” Zuko rasps, grasping the base of the toy. “Show me how to please you. How to make you feel like that.”</p><p>Sokka darts a hand down, angles him so the head presses right on the spot that makes him ache.</p><p>“There, right there—” His voice cracks as Zuko eases out and then back in, inch by inch.</p><p>The slow drag of the cock inside ignites him. Bright, burning light flickers up his spine. Everything is so slick but he still feels he’s being rubbed raw; what can only be his own rough edges rubbing up against the unfamiliar, smooth as glass. Each pull draws the breath into him, each thrust punches out a groan. He rocks his hips into it and pleasure bursts into his limbs.</p><p>“Zuko,” he gasps, clutching the back of Zuko’s hair, desperate for more of him somehow. “Harder.”</p><p>Zuko raises his head from Sokka’s shoulder and watches him for one thrust, two; the candles flare with his breath, pulses illuminating the shadows on his face. He plants his elbow in the pillow and puts his back into it, rocking him into the bed.</p><p>“Fuck,” Sokka moans sharply with each jolt. “Fuck!”</p><p>“Yes? Like that?” Zuko asks, eyes darting all around Sokka’s face. “You like that?”</p><p>“Yes,” he says, and then too honestly, “I need it. I need you.”</p><p>“I’m here, you have me.” Zuko dips his head and kisses his cheek. “I’ll do it for you,” he whispers in Sokka’s ear. “I’ll learn how to please you.”</p><p><i>You already do,</i> Sokka thinks, or maybe whispers, barely a breath.</p><p>He closes his eyes then against the flood of sensations: Zuko deepening the mark on his neck with his tongue and teeth, flashes of heat from the candles, the creak of the bed. He can’t take it much longer, climbing and climbing, and slips a hand between them to rub his cock. Each thrust doubles the sensation and then he steps off an edge; the promise of the foggy cliffside.</p><p>Zuko fucks him and fucks him, and he submits to the pleasure as it overtakes him like floodwater over a riverbank, clenching down, shuddering, bursting.</p><p>There are kisses laid on his face. The thrusts gentle. Sokka lets his chest heave, slows his shaking, uncurls his toes.</p><p>Zuko slips the glass from him as he’s still trying to catch his breath and he can’t help but give a sound at the lonely feeling it leaves behind. That’s right — that’s why he doesn’t do this often.</p><p>The bed shifts and Zuko’s footsteps move across the wood floor, barefooted sounds that make his heart ache.</p><p>“Please don’t go,” Sokka says toward the ceiling, bleary-eyed. He hates the color the orange candlelight turns this room. Fire on blue walls. He covers his face with his hands so he doesn’t have to see it.</p><p>“What did you say?” Zuko says, his voice close again, his body close and radiating warmth. “Are you okay?”</p><p>Sokka takes a deep breath. He’s being ridiculous. “Will you stay tonight?” he asks.</p><p>“Of course,” Zuko says, and Sokka lets his hands fall back to the bed. Zuko looks down at him, confused, washcloth in his hand. “I thought, earlier…”</p><p>“I know. I just— needed to hear it.”</p><p>“Oh.” Zuko’s expression resolves into understanding, like Sokka’s not being completely nonsensical and clingy. “I’ll sleep here tonight,” he says. “And try not to wake you in the morning.”</p><p>“Maybe Agni will let you sleep in.”</p><p>Zuko smiles. “Maybe.”</p><p>Sokka keeps a hand on him as they fall asleep, just in case he turns to thin air right out from under him.</p><p>---</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sky is bright, dotted with white clouds. Dark water calls for him. The cold seeps into him. An ice floe beneath him, bobbing under his weight. It's very, very quiet.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p>When Sokka wakes he’s already sitting up and his heart is pounding in every limb. There’s a rustling, movement, but his ears are full of white noise.</p><p>A voice comes through fuzzily: “Sokka? What’s wrong?” Zuko’s here. Zuko’s still here.</p><p>He can still feel it, the deep sound of the ice splitting, shaking his bones. The black point of a bow rising and rising and puncturing the sun.</p><p>“The ship,” he moans.</p><p>“You had a nightmare,” Zuko says. His voice sounds far away.</p><p>Sokka’s hands are cold. His feet are cold. He pries his eyes open and looks around blurrily, reaches out with his hands — the blankets, the wall. The room comes into focus. His blue room, made of wood and not ice. He touches his hands to his face. He’s crying.</p><p>“Sokka?” Zuko’s hands are on him, rubbing over his arms. He’s not alone.</p><p>The ache in his chest balloons. He’s not alone.</p><p>He goes into Zuko’s arms, his touch putting out flares of loneliness across his skin. Sokka presses his face into Zuko’s neck. The tears fall out of him, guttural cries torn from the pit of his stomach.</p><p>Sokka cries and cries and doesn’t float away. He feels every wave of tears sting his eyes. The knife in his chest twists. Why today? It’s as if he’s being punished for having dared to feel happy.</p><p>He can hear her voice singing to him, telling him stories. He can feel her hands braiding his hair. He tries to imagine her face — but there’s only her scent, the soft hide of her coat. He can’t remember his mom. No. No.</p><p><i>I can’t do this alone,</i> his arms say, gripping Zuko tightly. <i>Don’t leave. Don’t leave me.</i></p><p>Zuko holds him.</p><p>He doesn’t remember what happens after that. Some time passes. Then he takes a deep breath and comes back to himself. He breathes deeply in and out until sensations start to filter in: wetness on his face, the warmth of Zuko’s body, the movement of his hand stroking Sokka’s back.</p><p>There’s a wet patch on Zuko’s tunic when he peels his face away. Sokka releases him and reaches for the edge of the sheet to wipe his face. Maybe he should feel embarrassed but mostly he feels empty and numb. Zuko stayed the whole time — stays with an arm around him as he cleans away tears and snot.</p><p>“Sorry,” Sokka croaks. His face feels swollen from crying but at least it’s dry now, although the rest of him is still covered in a cold sweat.</p><p>“You don’t have to apologize.”</p><p>Sokka finally lifts his head. Zuko is watching him hesitantly but kindly, his dark eye wet.</p><p>“I have them sometimes too,” Zuko whispers.</p><p>The idea that Zuko feels this pain is like a knife in his chest. Sokka’s so exhausted. He wants to cry but involuntarily he chuckles. It turns into a full-chested laugh and then he can’t stop, feeling hysterical.</p><p>“Sorry, I’m—” He covers his eyes with a hand to block out Zuko’s confused face. “I’m not laughing at you, it’s just after last night— And I cried all over your shirt and you’re being so nice to me.”</p><p>There’s a huff of breath and Zuko’s hands squeeze his back. He says shyly, “It was a little unexpected.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sokka agrees, laughter falling into a sigh. He hugs Zuko again, avoiding the soiled spot on his tunic. “I'm sorry. Thank you.”</p><p>“You don’t have to thank me,” Zuko murmurs.</p><p>Sokka feels empty-empty now, truly depleted. “Want to shower with me?” he murmurs.</p><p>“Let me wash you,” Zuko says.</p><p>He’s never felt like this before with another person, Sokka realizes as he leans back against Zuko’s warm chest. Worrying about nothing but staying upright, he soaks in the movement of the soapy washcloth over his skin, the stream of cool refreshing water rinsing him clean.</p><p>He feels uncertain for a moment when Zuko cleans between his legs — it’s not sexual at all, which somehow makes it terrifying. But Sokka allows him and feels something lighten in his chest when it's through, an unburdening.</p><p>After they rinse and dry, Sokka sits on the edge of the sink to braid his hair while Zuko finds them both some clothes. The dildo is stands proudly at the edge, clean and gleaming. Sokka flushes and focuses on his task.</p><p>“Will you let me buy you breakfast?” Zuko says when he shuffles into the room with his boots half-tied.</p><p>He’s back in his own pants and one of Sokka’s short-sleeved undershirts, tucked in at the waist to hide that it’s much too short. The effect is very casual, would be almost inappropriate if he weren’t so naturally beautiful and well — regal looking. It’s enough to dress up any garment. Once his hair is in order, that is.</p><p>“C’mere,” Sokka murmurs, hair tie between his lips.</p><p>He secures his wolf tail with it and welcomes Zuko between his legs. Sokka’s a little taller like this and he takes advantage of it to get his hands on Zuko’s hair. The messy bun on the top of his head falls loose into a gentle wave, slightly tangled.</p><p>“Ouch,” Zuko complains as Sokka combs through it with his fingers. He could probably do with an actual comb but Sokka doesn't need one and doesn't have one.</p><p>Sokka shushes him. “I’m being sweet to you. Do you even know how to do your own hair?” He’s guessing no, as he looked ready to walk out of the apartment with it all tangled.</p><p>Zuko flushes. Just as he thought.</p><p>“There’s always someone who does it for me,” he admits.</p><p>“But do they do it with love?” Sokka quips and immediately snaps his mouth shut. “Um. Turn around.”</p><p>Zuko obeys, leaning back into back into Sokka’s fingers as he braids his hair. His heart races. Damn his stupid, giant mouth. He starts with the hair at Zuko’s crown and collects sections into the braid as he moves down the back of his head.</p><p>Zuko moves his hands to cup the backs of Sokka’s knees, a warm, comforting touch. His heart pulses once, twice. He finishes up the braid quickly and uses one of his blue leather ties to secure it. With a final caress, he lets it fall against Zuko’s back.</p><p>Sokka clears his throat. “All done.”</p><p>Zuko turns. “Do I look acceptable now?” he asks. The fluff around his hairline is loose and curling slightly in the humidity of the room.</p><p>“Just fine,” he agrees, an understatement to an extreme degree. “Hand me my pants.”</p><p>Sokka feels fragile as they embark onto the street. He usually doesn’t go anywhere or do anything when he’s in this kind of state, usually just spends a lot of time sitting on the floor and feeling bad for himself.</p><p>Today the world takes on a strange kind of clarity. The sky is exquisitely blue. The sea breeze coming in from the west has a sharp salty smell and ruffles up against him carelessly. Zuko’s next to him, hand brushing against his as they walk.</p><p>Without thinking Sokka leads them to a noodle shop and they sit at a table by the front window. Morning light lays warm squares onto the table, the side of Zuko’s face. Zuko seems to glow from the inside — radiant in white linen, flushed from his hot bowl of broth.</p><p>Sokka tries to remember everything: the noise of the restaurant, the feeling of their silence in the air. The lines of Zuko’s palm when he reaches out to hold Sokka’s hand above the table.</p><p>Sokka’s breath catches in his chest. He doesn’t dare think a single thought. For once, he doesn’t think at all. He holds Zuko’s hand as people come and go through the front door, as their empty dishes are swept away, as the patches of sunlight shift around the room.</p><p>He has this. He has this in his hands, right now.</p><p>—</p><p>Zuko helps him carry up groceries and leaves him with a kiss.</p><p>Sokka lingers in the window of the studio for a while, trying to soak up more of that feeling. It’s like a veil has been lifted off the world for a moment, if he can only decipher what he’s seeing.</p><p>Inspired, he works on Mai’s painting for a while.</p><p>His mind drifts as he paints and he ends up thinking of Yue.</p><p>He’s still young, but he was a child back then. In the North he saw for the first time the rivers in the ice the elders recalled. These were laid in a grid, totally different from the round, organic shapes he saw every day in their village. But now he could imagine what Gran Gran, Hama and the others described: the Southern villages united by the power of waterbending. He’s always been proud of Katara, but he’d never been prouder to see her master the Northern style. He could see in his mind then what she could build, what she could heal.</p><p>Yue seemed an embodiment of that — new and incredible opportunity only just buried in fluffy new snow. She was beautiful, kind, and funny. She gave freely of herself with her melodic voice and danced between formality and intimacy with ease. He knows he’s romanticized her in his memory because he can’t find any fault in her. Only the strength and decisiveness that dealt him cards he didn’t like.</p><p>He remembers their first kiss, at midnight under the full moon, and their last, just the same. He offered to stay if she would choose him. They both knew it was a fantasy. He would never let Katara go on without him. He was a fool to offer and she was brave for them both, to do what needed to be done and turn him away.</p><p>In dark moments he’s invented cruelty in her, imagining that she felt nothing or looked down on him, his own dark thoughts sung in her voice. But in the clarity of day he sees the truth: she knew her destiny and in her love, she couldn’t keep Sokka away from his.</p><p>That’s the thing, he thinks, taking up his palette knife. He doesn’t know his destiny, or if he even believes in something like that.</p><p>He scrapes away the gooey mess of paint he’s made and imagines an ice floe, bobbing away from a glacier to drift off alone into the vast ocean.</p><p>An absence of destiny — he could be anywhere or nowhere at all, and it would hardly matter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>language used for body parts:</b> cock, folds, entrance. a dildo is referred to as toy, dildo, cock and dick.</p><p><b>spoilers for the smut scene:</b> this scene contains light d/s. it is consensual and everyone has a good time. </p><p>in the first section, zuko and sokka play wrestle in sokka's bed and sokka pins him down. zuko asks sokka to be "not entirely nice". sokka touches zuko with his hands and edges him while laying on top of him. this section is narrated indirectly, but dialogue afterwards playfully implies that zuko at one point got frustrated and "called [sokka] names" (and enjoyed it), which sokka takes as a compliment. </p><p>in the next section, zuko touches sokka with his hands including fingering him vaginally, and then fucks him with a dildo. in the middle of the scene, sokka puts his fingers in zuko's mouth which zuko is surprised by but likes. after they finish, sokka is overwhelmed and emotional and is reassured by zuko.</p><p>if there is anything else you think should be added to this, please let me know!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sokka knows he’s smart. He knows his knots, he knows chemistry, anatomy. He knows how to gut a salmon-trout and how to sail through an ice field. He knows how to see what’s in front of him and reproduce it on paper. He knows how to see what’s in front of him — except he doesn’t.</p><p>He’s never felt so fucking stupid in his life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>we're really getting into it now...</p><p>thanks for all your lovely comments on the last chapter! somehow i get more and more nervous each posting day, your feedback and support means so much to me.</p><p>also the chapter count has increased! i'm currently writing the last chapter which may take a little bit but you can continue to expect regular weekly updates up through chapter 8.</p><p><b>content warning</b> for this chapter: non-graphic vomiting, reference to suicidal thoughts, and self harm. for a summarized spoiler of the self harm in this chapter, see the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The story goes that long ago, Tui and La, inspired by love for humankind, carved a beautiful oasis in the heart of the North Pole. To this day, the serene spiritual center of the North remains home to the Moon and the Ocean spirits' mortal forms. </p><p>When the moon grows closest to the sea in its orbit, it calls for celebration to honor the sacrifice of Tui and La with gratitude and expressions of human joy: food, dance, love and community, and of course, waterbending.</p><p>The preparations start a few days before. Boats bring in huge nets of salmon-trout. Formalwear is brought out from closets, cleaned and mended as necessary. Benders fill and freeze the troughs lining the main square with fresh water so the older kids can skate in sharp-soled boots on the night of the Full Moon.</p><p>Sokka spends his mornings hanging fish with a handful of neighbors, threading lines through the filets and tying knots with his good, young joints. First they go on racks in the open air to dry and then into the smokehouse brushed with marinade.</p><p>His evening session with Mai is interrupted continuously as neighbors come through to borrow rags and rubbing alcohol to polish their jewelry. </p><p>He spends their time doing tiny studies of her on a pad of paper, and makes sure she knows that she and Zuko are invited to the celebration the next evening.</p><p>The longer he goes without touching the incomplete section of the painting, the more a mounting dread builds up inside him. But his grasp on her still feels tenuous, like if he tries to grab her she’ll slip away. He can’t bring himself to make a single mark.</p><p>He’s supposed to be done the day after tomorrow.</p><p>He tries not to think about it.</p><p>---</p><p>The crowd is dense as Sokka makes his way out onto the main street — every resident of this side of the City is out, and more traveling from the other side of the bay. </p><p>The crowd is mostly blue, mixed in with red, greens, and greys in all combinations. For a second Sokka thinks Aang is here, but the spot of yellow in the corner of his eye turns out to be a pair of Air Acolytes. He brushes away his disappointment, introduces himself and chats with them for a few minutes before moving on toward the main square.</p><p>It’s slow going but he doesn’t mind. It's almost reassuring. He has always liked feeling part of a whole, whether it was snuggled with Aang, Toph, and Katara by a campfire, or like this, joining a stream of moving bodies and being carried down the current.</p><p>Once they reach the plaza there’s more room to breathe. There’s the banner he painted hanging between buildings behind the stage: layers of watery ink that coalesce into the mirrored forms of Tui and La, circling each other in the starry night sky. It’s no masterpiece, but it still feels good to see it hung out in the open and know that his community is proud of him.</p><p>He glances around for Zuko and Mai who are tall enough that he should be able to spot the tips of their crowns over the top of most everyone’s heads, but there’s no sign of them. He shoos away the disappointment. It’s not even dark yet and there was no confirmation they would be here anyway. They probably have secret cocktail hour with the City Council members or something equally boring and important to do instead.</p><p>He eats something and shares greetings when he bumps into someone he knows. The Mechanist is here and gives him a huge hug and a shake for waiting so long to welcome them to the city. Teo is beside him in a shiny metal chair that moves when he tilts a joystick, cogs working beneath him. Sokka gives him a hug too — he looks like he’s grown by a head and a half since Sokka’s last seen him and it reminds him again how much time has passed since he was traveling the world, since he left this place at all.</p><p>Performances start soon after that and Sokka stands back, away from the action. The sun fully sets and he leans back against the stone wall behind him. Musicians play, cheers rise, feet shuffle and voices chatter — and for a second he closes his eyes, trying to talk himself away from the melancholy he’s stumbled upon.</p><p>He’s surrounded by his community, his friends. Yet he feels like he’d rather be back in his dark studio where no one can lay eyes on him. </p><p>It makes no sense. </p><p>He has everything he needs: a place to sleep, food to eat, all the painting supplies he could ask for. But this dour cloud continues to haunt him, making him feel ashamed of every breath.</p><p>No one glances at him, everyone focused on the stage. But he still feels eyes setting off the hair on the back of his neck, urging him louder and louder to get out of here. </p><p>He forces his breath to slow. He’s going to socialize tonight. He’s going to have a good time. He <i>is</i>.</p><p>Sokka steels himself and looks around. Thankfully, then he sees it: in a side street a block down, the roof of a Fire Nation carriage. He goes to it, just barely keeping himself from running.</p><p>He waves to the guards, who recognize him and give a knock on the carriage door. The curtain whips open and Zuko’s face goes from irritated to relieved in a flash. He pulls the door open and instead of getting out, tugs Sokka in. </p><p>“Whoa!” Sokka startles. It’s a tight fit and he’s half in Zuko’s lap from sheer momentum. Mai looks on skeptically.</p><p>“Hey there,” he says, getting himself seated properly and closing the door behind him. </p><p>“Hi,” Zuko says.</p><p>“Oh, wow.” Sokka takes them in, a welcome distraction from his rapid heartbeat. They are very dressed up. Way too dressed up. “Where did your, uh, handmaids think you were going exactly? That train will get trampled in a second flat.”</p><p>Zuko flushes and Mai gives a snort.</p><p>“That doesn’t mean what you think it means,” she says.</p><p>“A train? Is there another name for it?”</p><p>“Not that,” Zuko hisses like a teapot. “I have assistants, not <i>handmaids</i>.”</p><p>“You mean you don’t sleep with your ‘assistants’?”</p><p>“Where would you get that idea?”</p><p>“I don’t know, books? Plays?” Sokka’s a man of culture. What, do they think he doesn’t read?</p><p>“Don’t you have a book like that?” Mai asks Zuko, who glares and goes even redder.</p><p>“Why do you hate me?” he says. “Why are we even talking about this!”</p><p>“Take off your robes,” Sokka says. </p><p>“Finally.” Mai goes for her sash while Zuko looks back and forth between them, pained with disbelief. “This okay?” </p><p>Beneath the outer layers she wears a qipao so deeply maroon it’s almost black. While in daylight the wine-red shade is unmistakably a color for nobility, at this hour it’ll be easy to mistake for navy blue. She’ll blend right in.</p><p>“Want me to help with your hair?” </p><p>She nods and Sokka makes himself busy removing pins and an intricately bejewelled phoenix hairpiece.</p><p>“You too,” Sokka says with a nod to Zuko.</p><p>Beneath Zuko’s inner robes is a tunic just as extravagant as the outer layer, and just likely to get him ogled or recognized. </p><p>It’s not that he doesn’t want to be seen here as the Fire Lord, Zuko explains. It’s actually the opposite, apparently — his advisors sent him here to make an appearance. </p><p>“But I’m not doing that,” he says, one arm stuck over his head because his tunic is caught in his crown. “I thought with both of you here, I’ll have someone I trust on my left side and I can finally get to experience the city.”</p><p>Sokka’s determination to to stick it out morphs into a desire to show these two a good time in Republic City. </p><p>He helps Zuko out of his shirt and lends him his undershirt, donning his own tunic alone. While the strands of rubies aren’t coming out any time soon, Zuko lets down the rest of his hair and looks unassuming enough once his slim pants are over his fancy boots instead of tucked inside.</p><p>They finally tumble out of the small carriage.</p><p>“So, sake?” Mai says.</p><p>Making his way through the crowd is different this time. Sokka’s racing heart starts to slow with Zuko’s hand clasped around his wrist so they don’t get separated. When he glances back he finds that Zuko is holding onto Mai too. </p><p>Something warms in his chest, surprising him. He’s tried not to think too hard about Mai and Zuko, what they do and what they don’t do together. But he likes watching them, the way she pokes at him until he roars to life, totally different to the earnest sweetness Sokka’s had with him. </p><p>He’s happy for them. As much as he’s quietly judged their situation, being engaged to someone who clicks with them so well seems very lucky after all.</p><p>Sokka leads them through the crowd past stalls offering smoked fish, sea prunes, kelp noodles and caribou-seal meat on skewers. They gather banana leaves piled with helpings of each and cups filled with berry wine and sweet, milky sake as they go, until their arms are full and they move at a shuffle to stay within elbow’s length of each other. </p><p>At the broad steps that line the plaza, they gather around a stone slab that an earthbender has dug up as a table, the perfect place to lay down their feast and dig in. </p><p>“So,” Mai says, sipping her drink. “How’s the painting going?”</p><p>“Good,” Sokka says automatically. “It’ll definitely be finished on time. And be complete.”</p><p>“Was that supposed to be convincing?” </p><p>“It looked like you were making progress the other night,” Zuko chimes in.</p><p>“I was! I am,” Sokka says. “I’m just having a little setback. It’s not you, it’s—” <i>It’s me,</i> he almost says. <i>I’m not good enough.</i></p><p>“But the extra session…?” </p><p>“Was a waste of time apparently.”</p><p>“Being rude isn’t going to help, Mai.”</p><p>“No, she’s right. I wasted both of our time.” Sokka sighs. </p><p>“I’m sure it wasn’t a <i>waste</i>. It must have helped something.”</p><p>“It’s not anything that looking harder or longer will fix. I’m seeing something three dimensional that I’m not able to recreate on a flat surface. But I don’t have the knowledge to identify what that is.”</p><p>“You don’t know what you don’t know,” Mai says.</p><p>“Exactly. It’s frustrating. I’m good at what I do, I am. But getting stuck like this makes me feel like… a fraud.” Sokka covers his eyes with a hand. That was more than he meant to say.</p><p>Zuko lays a hand on his arm quietly. There’s a shift in the air where Sokka can’t see, looks being exchanged, gestures cutting through the air.</p><p>“Sorry,” Sokka says. “We can— Let’s talk about something else.”</p><p>“There must be something more to try,” Zuko says, not giving him an inch. “There’s always more than one path to resolve a problem.”</p><p>“Maybe. Not really. Not unless I can get a fresh eye on it.”</p><p>“Ikue could look, I’m sure she has a free hour tomorrow—”</p><p>“Ikue would fire him,” Mai interrupts.</p><p>Sokka sighs. “Don’t worry about it, honestly. I’ll figure it out.” He has no other choice.</p><p>There’s an uncomfortable silence. Sokka scrambles for something interesting to say, but his mind keeps returning to the painting and how he should be doing that instead of fumbling this social interaction. At last Zuko pipes up and fills it.</p><p>“If only it was as easy as listing plants,” he says.</p><p>“<i>Listing plants?</i> I can’t think of more boring pillow talk,” Mai groans.</p><p>Thank La. If there’s anything he can do with his brain on the fritz, it’s talk plants. </p><p>“Not just any plants, or I would agree with you. I’ll give you that.” Sokka raises an eyebrow with false bravado. “We’re talking plant pigments.”</p><p>“You pick a color and take turns naming plants that produce that color pigment. It’s great for when you can’t fall asleep.”</p><p>Sokka laughs loudly as Zuko realizes what he’s said.</p><p>“Red,” Mai says. “For Zuko’s cheeks.”</p><p>He jabs her with an elbow.</p><p>“Think you can keep up?” Sokka goads.</p><p>“Haven’t you had Fire Nation food? Everything is red.”</p><p>“Fine then, you start.”</p><p>“Chili paste.”</p><p>“Pomegranate.”</p><p>“Pokeweed berries,” she says, deadpan.</p><p>“Cherries.”</p><p>“Bloodroot.”</p><p>“Bloo— Seriously?”</p><p>“They’re red,” she says. “That’s why they call it bloodroot.”</p><p>“Beets!” Zuko interjects urgently.</p><p>Sokka’s fondness for him couldn’t be greater. </p><p>“Roses,” Mai says.</p><p>Shit, he can’t lose at his own game. He knows his flowers, he can think of something—</p><p>“Hibiscus!” he shouts, knocking his drink into his lap. “Oh, shit—”</p><p>There’s a snort from across the table. Sokka looks up from wiping uselessly at his crotch to find Mai’s hand in front of her mouth, her eyes suspiciously mirthful.</p><p>“Laugh all you want,” Sokka says. “I win.”</p><p>“Sumac,” she says with finality.</p><p>“Ah, sumac,” Zuko curses. </p><p>“You put up a good fight,” Mai tells Zuko kindly as she bothers him with a pointy fingernail behind the ear.</p><p>Sokka lets out a steadying breath. The night is turning out okay.</p><p>The Full Moon reaches its peak a few hours after that. It’s huge, taking up a quarter of the sky. The chatter naturally dies down as people look around and realize the night is lit up like sunrise. </p><p>These transits of the moon are the closest they get to an antarctic summer along the equator, something Sokka would never have thought to miss. </p><p>The Northern custom is to bow in the presence of Tui, but in his village in the South they share a warm drink, one of many over the course of the evening. When he was very young, sometimes Dad gave him a taste of the hunters’ drink — viscous and deeply red. Some years it was caribou-rabbit stew, or the broth leftover from boiling whale-porpoise meat. </p><p>This year he shows Mai and Zuko how to hold their mugs of broth out so the moonlight touches it and then drink fully, enjoying the savory taste and feeling the warmth spread through him. </p><p>After that the celebrations pick up again, singing and deep drum beats that Sokka feels against his skin. Mai’s not much of a dancer but watches with a hint of a smile as he shows Zuko how to sway and stomp his feet to the rhythm. </p><p>Zuko picks it up fast which Sokka half guessed he might, and soon they’re giving her a show, Water Tribe dancing one minute and the next swinging and twirling each other around until they’re both dizzy.</p><p>They dance until they’re sweaty and it’s early morning. As the crowd in the plaza grows sparse, Sokka ushers them back to the carriage. </p><p>“Come stay with me,” Zuko insists. “My <i>handmaid’s</i> asleep and I need help with the— the shiny things.”</p><p>Mai may let out a chuckle at that, but Sokka will never be sure as it's drowned out by his own laughter. How could he say no?</p><p>The consulate sits at the edge between the Capitol building and the Fire District. Sokka’s been there before as Aang’s advisor, before Dad arrived in the City and took over. Everything looks newer now, shiny and neat, no cart tracks or rubble on the side of the road. </p><p>The Capitol building itself is relatively short compared to the ones around it, made of white rock with entrances lined by large columns. A broad courtyard stretches around it, dotted with pools of water, stone benches and lamp posts. The Fire Nation consulate is adjacent, an odd mishmash of Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation architecture — the walls and foundation made of stone, but with a sharp, intimidating roofline and covered walkways surrounding it.</p><p>The inside feels as unfamiliar as it did the first time — deep red and gold everywhere, like being transported across the world in an instant. Sokka tries not to let it get to him and follows Zuko to his suite on one of the upper floors.</p><p>“Are you sure I’m doing this right?” Sokka says, concentrating on untangling the gems and fine gold chain from the top of Zuko’s ducked head.</p><p>“Yeah?” Zuko says. “This is about how it goes.”</p><p>“Really? There’s no special tools? No official training? I feel like I’m pulling your hair a lot.”</p><p>Zuko laughs and Sokka feels the puffs of breath against his chest. </p><p>“Not as glamorous as you would think.” He strokes a hand over Sokka’s leg absently. “Actually, I think I’m the official training. I’m the most patient of the three of us. Azula, Mai and I.” </p><p>“I see. So this is business as usual.” Sokka sucks in a breath of triumph as one of the strands comes loose. He hands it to Zuko so it doesn’t get lost in the bedsheets.</p><p>“Oh, this is nothing. For our engagement ceremony, Mai spent two hours getting her hair done in this traditional style— it’s, um, well it’s hard to describe. You’ve seen all the pins they stick her with. And then she had to balance half a dozen antique hair pins so on top of her head in just the right position, for <i>six hours</i>. It took another half-hour to take everything out afterwards. She said if she had to endure that again, the wedding is off. So they’re making her a wig instead.”</p><p>The last strand of jewels comes free and after handing it off, Sokka can’t help running his hands through Zuko’s hair. He raises his head, pushing into Sokka’s fingers, his grin settling into a pleased smile.</p><p>“Who would have known, the secret trick to call off arranged marriages,” Sokka jokes, massaging Zuko’s scalp with his fingertips.</p><p>Zuko’s eyes blink open. “Arranged?”</p><p>“Yeah?” He tries to remember whatever pattern he was doing before that had that blissed out look on Zuko’s face, trying to bring it back.</p><p>“Our marriage isn’t arranged.” Zuko’s face is oddly serious.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sokka gently extracts his hands from Zuko’s hair. “That’s what they call them in the North. A— political marriage? What is it called in the Fire Nation?”</p><p>“No, I mean Mai and I. <i>Our</i> marriage is not arranged,” Zuko says.</p><p>Sokka drops his hands into his lap. And then on second thought, scooches back so he can see Zuko better. </p><p>“But Mai said…”</p><p>Zuko’s brow furrows. </p><p>“What did Mai say?” he asks when Sokka doesn’t continue.</p><p>He’s starting to feel like he has gravely misstepped.</p><p>“She said that she wants you to have what makes you happy.”</p><p>Zuko looks even more confused. “Why does that mean our marriage is arranged?”</p><p>“Because if it’s not arranged, <i>she’s</i> what makes you happy.”</p><p>“She does, that’s why we’re getting married,” he says exasperatedly. “We love each other. We want to spend our lives together.”</p><p>It feels like the ground is turning beneath him. He looks down instinctively — there’s his own familiar hands, his dark pants, and beyond that the deep wine red of the silk bedspread. The same color as Mai’s dress, as the piles of embroidered robes he viewed that first day, a shade for royalty. </p><p>He looks around the room, remembering where he is — or fully taking it in for the first time. Red wallpaper, gaudy golden decor and heavy solid wood furniture.</p><p>“Sokka?”</p><p>“Then...” he trails off, before grasping the first thread he can find. “Then what do you need me for?”</p><p>“‘Need you for?’” Zuko echoes.</p><p>Right. What would Zuko ever need <i>him</i> for? Zuko’s about to be the Fire Lord. Anything he ever wanted he could have, he’d just have to ask for it. And isn’t that exactly what’s happened? The Crown Prince asked Sokka for a walk around the city and Sokka gave it to him. And every other thing after that. </p><p>That’s not how it happened and he knows it. But once he has the thought he suddenly feels like he might throw up.</p><p>He knew this already, that he was temporary. So why does it feel like a blow to the chest, like a slimy fist grabbing him from the insides and pulling him below the water, drowning him—</p><p>A hand touches his arm. Zuko.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Zuko says. “I’m sorry, I just want to understand. I’m confused about what you’re asking me.”</p><p>Sokka stands and the hand falls away. “I have to go,” he says, looking around for his shoes but not taking in anything.</p><p>“Wait, hey,” Zuko says gently, following him.</p><p>“It’s— um— it’s okay.” Sokka slips his feet into his boots.</p><p>“But you’re upset,” he says, sounding upset himself. “Please don’t leave.” </p><p>Sokka can’t even look at him. If he looks back, he will give Zuko anything he wants and right now Sokka doesn’t know what <i>he</i> wants. He thought he knew but right now he’s a stranger in his own head. And in this place he feels farther from himself than he’s ever been. </p><p>He leaves.</p><p>The consulate is like a maze and Sokka tries to remember the way he came. He rushes down one hallway to a turn and stops, glancing in each direction, then rushes down another hall, and another— a flight of stairs, walls lined with paintings of places and people he doesn’t recognize. More of that dark wallpaper embedded with gold leaf, ugly and claustrophobic.</p><p>He slows down in the lobby, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Despite his best efforts, his footsteps thud noisily across the polished stone. A guard wishes him good evening as he exits into the courtyard. A polite pretense as if he hasn’t stayed the night, even though it’s dawn.</p><p>What the guards and staff he passed must think of him. His gut churns.</p><p>The sky pales with impending sunlight. It’s cold at this hour, chilling him in his sleeveless tunic. Zuko was still wearing his undershirt when he left. </p><p>He looks back then, at the building. The sharp roof line rising and rising, pointed like— like the bow of a ship. Bile rises in his throat. That’s not— no. </p><p>He stumbles toward the back of the building, not private enough in the open courtyard, and vomits.</p><p><i>That’s not real,</i> he says to himself as he coughs. <i>That’s not real.</i> </p><p>He wipes his mouth and heads west. </p><p>Past fountains and pillars, the large government building, into an alleyway and then onto the main avenue through the Capitol. The city has never felt so enormous, buildings rising on either side of him. At any moment he’ll be crushed — stone towers collapsing onto him, his own heart swelling and bursting inside him. </p><p>Sokka knows he’s smart. He knows his knots, he knows chemistry, anatomy. He knows how to gut a salmon-trout and how to sail through an ice field. He knows how to see what’s in front of him and reproduce it on paper. He knows how to see what’s in front of him — except he doesn’t.</p><p>He’s never felt so fucking stupid in his life.</p><p>Zuko lied. Zuko looked him in the eye and lied to his face. <i>I’ve never felt like this before</i>, he said, and Sokka ate it up. Foolish. Juvenile. <i>Stupid.</i></p><p>Everything is blurry until he blinks and tears flow onto his cheeks. He stops at the next alleyway, turning the corner and crouching with his back against the brick, curling in on himself and finally allowing himself to cry.</p><p>No, that’s not it. It’s not Zuko’s fault. It’s no one’s fault but his own that he told himself he wouldn’t, but fell in love with Zuko anyway. </p><p>He sobs into his knees. </p><p>He knew the whole time that Zuko is getting married. That Zuko will never love him. That Zuko cannot love him. And yet.</p><p>He gasps, overwhelmed by the humiliation. Everything else is stripped away by the force of it, a powerful wind battering him. Zuko asked him for a fling and Sokka fell in love with him.</p><p>A creaking cart rolls by — the day has already begun for the earliest risers. Sokka breathes deeply and wipes his face with his hands. He blinks up at the square of blue sky above him. When he can manage it, he rises. </p><p>It’ll take him hours to get all the way home like this. But once he starts to move, it feels good. He walks briskly, feeling his blood pump and his mind start to clear. He starts to warm inside and once he passes beyond the shadows of dense, tall buildings, the morning sun warms him from the outside too.</p><p>He reaches the coast and stops at a lookout point. Waves crash, sunlight sparkling on the rippled surface of the bay. A flock of birds descends from the sky to float and duck below the water for fish. </p><p>This is where he’s meant to be right now. The knowledge in his gut allows him to drop his shoulders and uncurl his fists and feel the deep, penetrating sorrow in his chest. Like a spike through him, sticky darkness crawling up his throat. He tries to breathe through it, feeling increasingly pained, suffocated.</p><p>That voice in his head, thoughts that made his gut sink, thoughts he resisted in those moments of weakness, telling him to turn back, that he didn’t deserve the shiny beautiful thing in front of him — they were meant to protect him. They were right and he ignored them.</p><p>As he rides the ferry across the water and walks the last few miles to his apartment, he tries to untangle it all in his head. The more he thinks, the more he realizes how much of this he’s made up, living a fantasy in his head. Hoping in the undercurrent of his mind that it might fix him.</p><p>---</p><p>It’s almost dark by the time Sokka gets back to his apartment. As he approaches, he gets a glimpse of the carriage parked outside his building. His stomach drops. He forgot about Mai’s session.</p><p>He’s exhausted and unbathed and starving — he had no money on him and then it was easier just to go home. He can’t paint today. He can barely keep himself upright.</p><p>He thuds up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. The royal guards are standing on either side of the door to the studio. Mai must have gotten impatient and gone in ahead. He doesn’t begrudge her for it. He’s over an hour late.</p><p>“Sorry,” Sokka says as he opens the door. “There won’t be a session today.”</p><p>The dais is empty.</p><p>In the stool at his easel is Zuko.</p><p>Everything keeping Sokka together in that moment falls out of him. He half collapses, bent over with his hands on his knees.</p><p>“I can’t,” he says, empty. “I just walked across the city, I can’t do this with you.”</p><p>Zuko’s shadow falls over him. “You walked?” he says. </p><p>“Yes, I walked. I don’t have a carriage to cart me around like you do.”</p><p>A sharp intake of breath from above. “But that would take…”</p><p>“All day. Yeah, it did.” </p><p>His feet are killing him. He sits back on the floor and pulls a boot off. His feet are swollen and rubbed raw in a couple places after he left without his socks. He should have taken another moment to look for them.</p><p>Zuko sucks in a breath. “You need medicine.”</p><p>“I’m fine, Aklaq downstairs is a healer,” Sokka says, flexing and curling his toes.</p><p>“I’ll send a guard to go get her.”</p><p>“No. I’ll go tomorrow.”</p><p>“But you’re bleeding!”</p><p>Sokka looks up at Zuko at last. He’s in his casual clothes, his hair messy again, falling out of his braid. His eyes are red like he’s been crying. Sokka feels a burst of anger. What does Zuko have to cry about? He has everything he wants.</p><p>“The shop is closed,” Sokka says, irritated. “I won’t interrupt their evening. It’s just a blister, Zuko. It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>Zuko’s lower lip twitches. “It does matter. It matters to me.”</p><p>Instead of scoffing like he wants to, Sokka squeezes his eyes shut hard.</p><p>“Then please bring me some water and a rag,” he says quietly.</p><p>Zuko lets out a breath and moves back across the room, bringing the pitcher and a cloth.</p><p>As soon as Sokka touches the jug his body takes over, raising the whole thing to his lips and drinking from it until his stomach protests. </p><p>The rest of him starts to chime in, muscles tense and aching. He’s going to be so sore tomorrow. </p><p>He dips the rag into what water remains and wipes his feet gently. The wounds sting, but he knows he’ll get a lecture from Aklaq if he doesn’t clean them.</p><p>“Can I help you?” Zuko asks, reaching for the cloth.</p><p>“No.” Sokka winces away, pulling his legs in towards him. </p><p>“It looks painful.”</p><p>“I’m fine. I’m not a child,” he says, contrary to every harsh thought he’s directed towards himself today.</p><p>“Why are you mad at me?” Zuko asks, hurt.</p><p>“I’m not.” He grips the rag tighter in his fist.</p><p>Zuko makes a noise of disbelief. “You obviously are.”</p><p>“I’m not angry.” </p><p>“Stop saying that,” Zuko says, a strain to his voice. “I’m right here, I can see you!”</p><p>“Well, you’re seeing wrong.”</p><p>Zuko winces, flushing red. “Then why are you being like this?”</p><p>“You know, you were there.” Sokka stares down at his hands, the dirty rag clenched in them. </p><p>“I <i>don’t</i> know!” Zuko sinks to his knees across from him. “I don’t. I told you right then I didn’t understand.” </p><p>Sokka stares stubbornly down at the rag. Several minutes go by quietly, the tiredness in Sokka’s body weighing him down and down. </p><p>Eventually, Zuko sniffles.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says wetly. </p><p>Sokka looks up at him, but Zuko won’t quite look at his face. </p><p>“Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I—” He takes a ragged breath and speaks all in a rush. “I know I say the wrong thing and do the wrong thing. I do it all the time. It’s like there’s— there’s something wrong with me. And I’ve never done this before so I don’t— I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve just been guessing this whole time. I’m sorry. Please tell me what happened.” He blinks rapidly and a tear slips off his cheek, becoming a dark spot on the wood floor. “Please, tell me what I did so I can <i>fix it.</i>” </p><p>Sokka’s heart is raw from earlier, from this day and now it’s breaking. </p><p>“It’s not you,” he says. He drops the rag to the floor. “I’m being an asshole. It’s not you.”</p><p>“Then what? I don’t <i>understand</i>.”</p><p>Sokka doesn’t understand himself either, doesn’t understand the riot of thoughts tumbling around inside him. “I’m— I’m not angry.” He knows that much. “I’m… embarrassed.”</p><p>Zuko looks at him briefly before his gaze wanders off to the side, brow furrowed like he’s puzzling over it. </p><p>“Why?” he asks finally.</p><p>“Because I let myself get carried away,” Sokka says haltingly. “I wanted to pretend.” Dread precedes the truth settling like stones out of the whirl in his mind. “I wanted to pretend that y— that someone could love me.” </p><p>The words hang in the air and shame hits him then. He ducks his head into his hands to hide from Zuko’s gaze. “It’s stupid, I know it’s stupid. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. And then last night, you said… and the whole story I built in my head collapsed.” </p><p>He curls his fingers against his face, curls in on himself entirely, unable to stop the words once they start coming. Defenses against the razor-like thoughts slashing at him inside his head. </p><p>“I knew— I <i>know</i> that this isn’t for long. You’re <i>you</i>. You have obligations, a bigger purpose in your life. I’m painting your wedding portrait for spirits’ sake, there was no reason for me not to… see what was right in front of me. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s… it’s me. I did this to myself.”</p><p>He can’t breathe for a second in the emptiness — the silence left by his confession, eyes squeezed shut. Zuko sits in front of him motionless. The longer the moment drags on, the faster his heart seems to beat. His chest shudders and he gasps for breath. </p><p>“Please don’t tell Mai,” Sokka says, winded. “I know you tell her everything, but please wait until after you leave. I can’t—”</p><p>He can’t spend another week with them in this room. His mind conjures it up so clear, like it’s already happening — the suffocating candlelight, the two of them on the dais looking down on him, his brush trembling in his hand. </p><p>Spirits, what has he done? He shouldn’t have said that. Why did he say all that? He’s desperate, pathetic — and an asshole. He made up this story in his head that Zuko and Mai could not love each other, to pretend that Zuko could love him instead. And do what, give up his life to stay here with him? </p><p>And when his foolishness came back to bite him, he acted— like a child. He made Zuko cry.</p><p>“I—” Zuko begins.</p><p>Sokka stands quickly and stumbles back against the wall. Blood rushes in his ears. </p><p>“No, please don't. I’m— sorry,” he chokes, only half hearing himself.</p><p>“Sokka,” Zuko says, and Sokka shuts his eyes defensively against whatever words come next. He can’t run away this time.</p><p>But Zuko doesn’t say anything more. He approaches slowly, wraps Sokka in his arms and holds him.</p><p>It feels strange. He’s stiff. Aware of Zuko's cheek against his temple, his mouth pressed to Zuko’s tunic. His own breath thunders in his ears. It occurs to him to hold him back — but his hands stay clenched at his sides. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sokka says again. “That I made you think—”</p><p>Zuko’s shoulders tremble and one of his warm hands cups the back of Sokka’s head. "It's okay."</p><p>Sokka does not touch him, does not allow himself to believe him.</p><p>---</p><p>At some point Sokka goes up to bed and Zuko follows him up the stairs to make sure he doesn’t fall and break his neck.</p><p>When he wakes up the first time, it’s dawn again. Sokka’s entire body is on fire, screaming at him. Zuko is gone.</p><p>He gives in and sleeps a while longer. </p><p>He wakes again in the afternoon and stares numbly at the ceiling. He imagines getting up, bathing, eating, going down to see Aklaq. Despite these thoughts, his body simply lays there. </p><p>He drifts. Something feels missing from him. An emptiness fills his chest, the edges aching in that way they do, sad and black and oozing. </p><p>There's no way to fix this. The inside of him is poisoned; he’s known that for a while now. It’s too scary to ask for help— it means he’ll have to say aloud the thoughts he’s been having, the nightmares. Even though he resents the false version of himself everyone thinks they know, he can’t bear to disappoint them with the truth. He’s not at all like they think he is. </p><p>Now Zuko’s seen it. Illusion broken. </p><p>He didn’t see Zuko’s face afterwards, Sokka realizes. He wishes he had so he’d know. So he could prepare for the pitying look he’ll see when he sees Zuko next, on the dais in his studio. So he could replay it in his head now, hurting inside and out.</p><p>There’s a knock at the door, interrupting Sokka’s plan to rot here in his bed. When he doesn’t answer it, the door creaks open and Aklaq appears around the corner, round face surrounded by her cloud of dark hair.</p><p>“Can I help you?” Sokka asks from his prone position.</p><p>“<i>Can</i> you?” she asks. “Physically?”</p><p>“I…” he trails off and sighs. “Maybe in an emergency.”</p><p>“Well, luckily for you, I got your note.” She makes her way to him, navigating his discarded clothes with a hand on her pregnant belly.</p><p>“What note?” Sokka says.</p><p>She chuckles. “Natsiq was right, they suspected it wasn’t from you. It was surprisingly legible. But you know me, always willing to see the best in people.” She sits at the edge of his bed, looking over him for injuries presumably. “You look fine to me.”</p><p>“That’s what I <i>told him.</i>”</p><p>“The person leaving me mysterious notes, I assume?”</p><p>“Tattling on me,” Sokka grumbles.</p><p>“Seemed more like they wanted to help you.”</p><p>“What did the note say?”</p><p>“That you needed a healing session today and to come to you. Apparently quicker than I managed, but I had to help sort inventory first. Come on, sit up.” </p><p>She offers him a hand and he takes it, wincing. As soon as he starts to rise the pain in his abdomen knocks the wind out of him. He flops back onto the sheets, sweating.</p><p>“What’s this about? Your moon week?” Her brow furrows. “I told you, I can’t heal that away for you or I would.”</p><p>He flushes. “No, I know.”</p><p>She pokes him high in the stomach and he yelps, jerking away and crying out again at the movement. “Ah! You evil lady!”</p><p>Her mouth twists. “Only a little evil. Should I look for myself then? If it’s your gut, I may need to go back down for the right herbs.”</p><p>“It’s not my gut,” Sokka sighs. “I’m just sore.”</p><p>She eyes him for a moment longer and then pulls the cork from the water skin at her side and bends herself a glove of water. The glowing water is cool when it touches his skin, and with another quality he can’t quite put into words, different from Katara’s healing touch.</p><p>“How have you been, Sokka?” Aklaq asks as she moves her hand across his front. “Besides sore.”</p><p>“Fine.” The wake of her hands leaves him feeling puffy and swollen, but the pain is significantly less.</p><p>“How are the paintings going? I see those guards outside every day. They don’t bother you or anything do they?”</p><p>“I don’t let them into the studio.”</p><p>“Good,” she says approvingly. “So it’s just you and the Prince in there, huh?”</p><p>“And his betrothed.”</p><p>“And? What are they like?” </p><p>She moves to his left arm and he falls silent. Her eyes dart up to his face after a minute.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>He shakes his head, a watery feeling moving up his throat.</p><p>“Sokka.” She pauses her movement and looks at him. “I’m worried about you.”</p><p>He closes his eyes, wanting this to stop. At the same time he desperately wishes she won’t, that she’ll take this decision away from him.</p><p>“You haven’t been yourself the last few times I’ve seen you. I can’t even remember the last time you ran down to the shop just to tell me about some new idea you had.”</p><p>“So? I— I haven’t had any new ideas.”</p><p>“Which is concerning.” She takes his hand between both of hers, the water wrapping around his hand as a result. His heartbeat pulses gently in his fingertips. “Tell me what’s going on, kiddo.”</p><p>Where could he even start?</p><p>“I—” His voice cracks and he slams his mouth shut again and swallows. “I don’t want to,” he says quietly.</p><p>She makes a sympathetic noise and rubs a hand over his arm vigorously, like they’re back on the ice and she’s trying to warm him up. His eyes well up with tears.</p><p>“Berry, you know you can tell me anything. What are you afraid will happen?”</p><p>He’s so exhausted. Everything is unraveling and he can’t help but pick at the thread even more, terrified in some distant part of his mind.</p><p>“I don’t want you to think of me—” his breath stutters, “—how I’ve been thinking of me.”</p><p>Aklaq wipes a tear from his face. The drop lifts from her finger and becomes part of her healing, and she draws it over his other arm, coaxing the pain from him until only his lower half is left aching.</p><p>“I remember when I first met you, Sokka. You were just a kid. You’re still a kid to me,” she says. “You had that giant bag full of sketches. All kinds of things, places and animals I’d never seen before. Knocking on every door, asking every neighbor when you could come back to draw their portrait. Even convincing our cranky Gamya to adopt you.”</p><p>“We both know she can’t be convinced to do anything,” he says thickly.</p><p>She chuckles and helps him stretch, one arm across his chest and then up above his head. Then the other. And then encourages him to twist at the waist so she can get to his back that way, now that he can, so that he won’t end up so tight.</p><p>“You are so stubborn. And quick and creative. Always looking for a way to bring beauty into our lives. Running errands for Pamiuq til the sun went down like you had nothing else to do, chatting his ear off and keeping him company after his husband passed. Bringing your visiting friends out at night to tell us stories.”</p><p>Sokka swallows more salty tears as she pulls the stagnant refuse through him so his body can clear it. She lets him roll onto his back again and pulls the bottom of the sheet up, enough to bare his feet.</p><p>“Oh,” she tsks at the blisters. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you?”</p><p>He doesn’t bother to deny it. She can see for herself what he’s done. </p><p>He gasps when she touches the water to him. It stings for a moment before the water soothes it. He can imagine the scabs dissolving, the skin stitching together and smoothing closed. Worse is when she grabs his foot, bracing his heel and pushing his toes back until his calf draws tight.</p><p>“You’re hurting, I know,” she says, a strand of humor in her voice at their position. “But you’re not a coyote-wolf, sneaking off to suffer its sickness alone.”</p><p>“I’m not--” he starts. Aklaq shakes her head and the protest dies away immediately.</p><p>She leverages his lower leg until he brings his knee to his chest, the breath pushed out of him again, but in relief this time. She lets him lower his foot again after a minute, flat on the bed with his knee bent.</p><p>Her water passes over his other foot. “<i>Every one of us</i> has been touched by the war. Even the babies born after its end will have to contend with it. I’ve treated people from all over this city with wounds on their bodies and in their minds. Nothing you say could surprise me. Or disgust me or scare me or whatever you’re afraid will happen.”</p><p>It’s exactly what he’s afraid of. For as long as he can remember, he’s been confident, had a high opinion of himself. Yes, he had his insecurities, but believed in himself even when others doubted him or laughed at him. And if he now finds himself repulsive, that can only mean everyone else will think even worse.</p><p>After stretching she lets him lie there for a moment while she returns her water to its pouch. But only for a moment, before she pulls him up sitting, easily this time, and holds his face in her gentle hands.</p><p>“We love you dearly, kiddo,” she says, her eyebrows lifted in sincerity. His eyes quickly blur with tears, overwhelmed by the relief in his limbs and the words his mind scrambles to reject. “You have a village you belong to, and friends as well. And now you’re here, and you belong to us too. You’re ours and we won’t let you wander off to die.”</p><p>Sokka’s breath halts in his chest and when it finally escapes, he sobs. The dark and desperate thought he’d not even put to words hangs in the air. Aklaq tips her forehead against his, like she can see into him and suck up some of his pain. She smells like the spice shop, her coarse hair tickling his cheek. Her thumbs stroke over his face, drawing away each wave of his crying, and she murmurs to him kindly.</p><p>For some reason in between crests, he thinks of the week after the last raid, grieving, feeling lost and emptier than he’d ever felt before. When he didn’t see even a glimpse of his dad, just shadows moving past the fire inside the iglu. Was he ever alone in there? Or was someone always watching over him closely like this?</p><p>He pulls away. He can’t bring himself to speak but he nods tearfully, hoping she’ll hear him.</p><p>She pets the back of his head, his tangled curls and the sweaty back of his neck. “Okay,” she says. “That’s the hard part. It’ll be okay, Sokka. We’ll help you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>self harm spoiler:</b> sokka becomes very upset and needs to get home from across the city. instead of asking for help, he walks all the way home without the proper clothes or shoes, neglects to eat, and ends up sore and hurt with bloody blisters on his feet. the next day his neighbor heals the injuries for him and offers to get him help.</p><p>if there's anything else you think needs warned for that i've missed, please let me know!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sokka’s still but he can almost feel the wind whipping against his face; running, sweating, pumping his arms, trying to avoid the chaos gaining on him just visible out the corner of his eye.</p><p>Up ahead is the edge of a cliff, and he can stop running or— well.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>same general warnings as for the whole fic, specifically themes of mental illness.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Sokka has cried himself out and he’s empty and calm, Aklaq calls out the window for Natsiq to bring some food up. They bring her crochet and a warm pot of caribou-moose stew for them, and Aklaq sends them away with a nod and a kiss. Sokka eats with her at the table until he’s warm again.</p><p>He could almost go back to sleep, and Aklaq might encourage him to rest but he has things to do today.</p><p>She waits while he bathes and then joins him in the studio. “You need some company today,” she says. </p><p>He’s gotten used to being alone which feels very strange once he thinks about it. He lived on top of one family or another for all his life until now. The city has been his home year-round for two years now, and on and off before that. Friends come to him with new stories and leave him to sleep in his bed alone again. </p><p>He’ll run his errands, tinker with things, stare out the window. He gets paid to paint important people, but hasn’t made anything of his own in months. He just feels… hollow. Like an oak that creaks in the breeze and hosts all kinds of creatures — but doesn’t do or feel much of anything.</p><p>It’s like she says: he’s sick. The truth is like steam released from a boiling pot. A breath flows out of him, not in relief but reluctance at the daunting idea of getting better. </p><p>Sokka paints as much as he can that afternoon, which ends up being most of the background. Aklaq takes her leave when Mai comes for her last sitting that evening. The light is golden now, casting long shadows around the room.</p><p>“I’ll send my husband up in the morning, okay?” she says, gathering up her yarn and hook.</p><p>Sokka watches from the door as she turns to the stairs, one of the royal guards offering her a hand. </p><p>“Oh, thank you!” she says, surprised.</p><p>They disappear behind the door as Sokka welcomes Mai inside.</p><p>He feels settled enough from the quiet afternoon that he thinks he can focus. </p><p>Aklaq will tell Natsiq what happened. Part of him thinks they’ll be making some kind of plans for him, the way Aklaq insisted on sitting with him today. She offered him help, but he can also imagine everything going back to normal tomorrow. She's right that he has community in different places, but no one is going to give up their life to come rearrange Sokka’s for him. He’s living his own mess.</p><p>“What’s going on with you?” Mai says partway through the session, interrupting his thoughts.</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“Sokka, I’m trying to be polite.” Her face is perfectly still and calm. “But I live with Zuko so I know it’s not nothing.”</p><p>His heart picks up and he pulls his hand away from the stone. Once he notices it, he can't tune it out: the air is humming with energy, radiating off of her. Why he thought he could keep anything from her, he doesn't know. </p><p>“What did he tell you?” he asks.</p><p>“Nothing." She speaks in firm, tense sounds that stop and start harshly. "Zuko thinks aloud. He tells me everything. But he wouldn't say anything about why he was upset. Any clue why that would be?” </p><p>“I— I asked him to keep it to himself.” He opens his mouth to continue with no idea what will come out. An excuse or justification— but Mai interrupts him.</p><p>“He came to me crying two nights in a row. Do you have any idea what that feels like?” she asks. Her stare is fierce. “To see him so upset and not be able to do anything?”</p><p>Sokka takes a miserable breath. Yes, he can imagine it. His red eyes and the awful, certain way he talked about himself, like it was given that everything was his fault. And of course, it wasn’t. It was Sokka’s fault.</p><p>The thing is, in this situation he <i>can</i> do something about it. But he has no idea what. He still feels hurt. Why? Because Zuko confirmed that Mai comes first? He knew that from the start. He’s just an idiot.</p><p>“I’m sorry that I asked him to keep secrets from you,” Sokka says. “I know you have no reason to trust me but it’s better this way.”</p><p>“Better for who?” she asks.</p><p>“For all of us.”</p><p>“How?” Her posture takes on a rigidness. “Zuko’s miserable, you look miserable. I’m not particularly enjoying having to watch. So who is benefiting from this?”</p><p>She watches him for a minute. With each second, Sokka becomes increasingly aware of his own traitorous face which shows everything he’s thinking.</p><p>He’s trying to hide because— because it doesn’t feel fixable. When he was a child he dreamed of being a husband, a dad, a protector. He doesn’t want to be second place in a relationship. He’d rather be alone. He desperately, desperately doesn’t want to be alone.</p><p>“You’re right,” Sokka says. “I’m just. Trying to contain the damage. For my own sake.”</p><p>“Sokka,” she says. “Not everything is about you.”</p><p>“I know that.”</p><p>“So act like it.” </p><p>“I just—”</p><p>“Stop making excuses. Fix it.” Mai sits back into her pose. Conversation over.</p><p>Sokka’s candles start to burn low. Wax drips and pools, and Sokka returns again and again to the intensity in Mai’s eyes.</p><p>His gut is tangled up like seaweed, struggling restlessly.</p><p>He’s not selfish. He’s not. </p><p>The creature struggles, columns of muck thrown up from the sea floor.</p><p>Mai watches him.</p><p>Isn’t he though? Wanting and wanting — a distraction, a relief, a tonic that will cure him without him having to lift a finger or face any uncomfortable feeling. </p><p>Sokka mixes colors weakly — a cool shadow below Mai’s lip, a subtle warmth to her cheeks, the dark line of makeup on her lashes. He can read it now, the protectiveness in the angle of her brow. And remembering in the line of her mouth, humor hidden by her dry, flat voice. </p><p>After she goes, Sokka brings out Zuko’s portrait from the back to make sure they match well enough. Melancholy lingers in the air and underneath, a spark of something. Somehow, Sokka is happy for them. They do look beautiful together.</p><p>His breath starts to come faster, his mind unhelpfully blank. He stands. His hands wander — planted on his hips and then stuck in his hair, hovering in between lost. He paces, panting, for the movement and the sound of his footfalls on the wood floor. The thuds start to come faster. A heavy feeling sits in his chest. </p><p>It’s no good— He can’t— He can’t stand it.</p><p>He escapes onto the street, avoiding the front windows of the spice shop. He crouches in the alley, then changes his mind and stands, pacing again. It feels too much like yesterday. </p><p>Will Zuko come tonight? Does he even care enough to return? Maybe he’ll just return for the couples’ sitting. The same perfect Crown Prince from the first day that met.</p><p>Sokka paces until he starts to feel lightheaded and forces himself to sit on the ground. </p><p>He’s still but he can almost feel the wind whipping against his face; running, sweating, pumping his arms, trying to avoid the chaos gaining on him just visible out the corner of his eye.</p><p>Up ahead is the edge of a cliff, and he can stop running or— well.</p><p>There is something in the corner of his eye then, a figure. A pale hand pulls the dark hood back. It’s Zuko.</p><p>Sokka’s heart stutters at the sight of him. He looks exhausted, dark smudge under one hazy eye. Sokka feels like a week has passed in just a few hours. </p><p>“Hi,” Zuko says, sleeves pulled down over his fingers.</p><p>“Hi,” Sokka echoes weakly and stands. His face feels hot with anxiety. “Let’s—” </p><p>He gestures towards the building, and then hesitates. He doesn’t want to have this conversation where it will become embedded in a room, wafting memories every time he enters. Instead he climbs the fire escape, Zuko’s quiet footsteps behind him. </p><p>The night is cool on the rooftop. There’s a stone bench near the edge and they sit, only one block of buildings between them and the sea just visible over the roof line.</p><p>It’s quiet for a few minutes. Sokka begs the salty breeze to cleanse the heaviness in the air. Waves crash in the distance, joining the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Zuko’s sharp presence at this side prickles over his skin.</p><p>Sokka wants this not to be happening. He wants to go back and change it. But these thoughts are faint, drowned out by the sound of blood pounding inside his head, his breath feeling too quick and too slow all at once. </p><p>A long moment passes, only the faint sound of the ocean washing over them.</p><p>“I don’t know what to say,” Sokka admits when the quiet becomes too much.</p><p>Zuko crosses his arms over his stomach, looking out over the street. “I… I have too much I want to say. I don’t know where to start.”</p><p>“Start anywhere,” Sokka says. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”</p><p>“I feel like it does,” Zuko says quietly. He takes in a breath, like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “I can hardly hold onto everything you said yesterday. I usually have to talk these things out.”</p><p>“And you couldn’t.”</p><p>“I did as you asked.”</p><p>“Mai— you two are a unit.” He takes a calming breath. “Your secrets are her secrets. I know that. And I shouldn’t have asked that of you.”</p><p>“I understand why you did.”</p><p>Understanding is not forgiveness. Sokka knows that, too. He forces himself to take a moment. To feel his heart sink to the pit of his gut, food for what lurks in there. He can do this. He can be uncomfortable for someone besides himself pushing on his own bruises. For someone he loves, even if he doesn't know what will happen.</p><p>“I didn’t think I’d see you again until your next sitting,” Sokka admits.</p><p>Zuko glances toward him. “Why?”</p><p>“After my— after yesterday, I thought you might be done with this. Done with me.”</p><p>Zuko’s brow dips sadly. Sokka can hardly look at him. “What did I do to make you think that?”</p><p>“I made you cry, Zuko.”</p><p>“Made me— yesterday?”</p><p>Mai’s voice appears into Sokka’s head: <i>He came to me crying two nights in a row.</i></p><p>“Yes,” Sokka says. “I was hurting, but I was <i>mean</i>. I saw how much it hurt you. It was wrong.” </p><p>“Yeah, but that’s— That’s not you, I feel that way all the time. Not— crying about it, I’d never get anything done. But I’m always a step behind. I was just especially frustrated.”</p><p>“A step behind?”</p><p>Zuko’s cheek turns red. Not his sweet pink flush, but something angry or ashamed.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Zuko says, voice quiet again. The second one, then.</p><p>“Okay,” Sokka says. “I won’t push you. But… I’m sorry. I am. I’m sorry that I acted that way. I’m sorry that I— that I trampled over sore spots I didn’t know were there.” His own twist of shame curls up in his chest.</p><p>Zuko takes in a shaky breath, hands fisted tightly on his lap.</p><p>A step behind, Sokka thinks.</p><p>“I want to make it up to you. But I don’t know how, besides doing my job and— and leaving you alone. I thought that’s what you would want. That’s why I thought...”</p><p>“Why you thought I would break up with you,” Zuko finishes. He’s turned away again, looking out over the streets. “...Is that what you want? To just leave it?”</p><p>The idea fills him with bone-deep disappointment. Emptiness.</p><p>“No,” Sokka says. </p><p>It’s easy to say, to admit to that much. That he expected Zuko to leave him behind, and to fight it. Not outwardly, but in the great crowded space inside him packed with territorial creatures, wriggling and quarreling, bending Sokka’s emotions to their will. </p><p><i>I don't want that,</i> he thinks. Thinking it feels like surfacing for a gasp of air. “I really, really don’t.”</p><p>Zuko’s left hand comes up to his temple and rubs over the edge of his scar before smoothing into his hair. “I don’t either. That’s why I came here. Whatever went wrong— I want to fix it. But I don’t even know where to start.”</p><p>“I didn’t know that would be an option.” Sokka takes a few deep breaths, letting his mind clear as much as it will allow. Part of him thinks, what’s the point? But— a possibility, an open door. Zuko, here. Having him for one more week. Not having to let go. Not yet.</p><p>“I thought about it,” Zuko says. “It’s still a jumble, but I realized… I’ve not been forthcoming with you.”</p><p>A series of nerve-wracking imaginings dart through his mind in a blur. “About what?”</p><p>“I thought— I thought nothing important,” Zuko says, and then winces. “I mean. You knew that I'm marrying Mai.”</p><p>Sokka nods. </p><p>“And that she’s fine with this.”</p><p>“You mentioned it. She did too.”</p><p>“Those are the important parts,” Zuko says. “I thought. After you left, I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. Until you explained yesterday and I realized I’d set you up to assume things because I never actually told you.”</p><p>“Then tell me,” Sokka asks. “Please.”</p><p>Zuko turns, one knee bent to rest his leg on the bench between them. “I’ve known Mai since we were little kids. We weren’t allowed to see many people our age. It was always just the four of us: me, Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee.” </p><p>Four of them, Sokka remembers, before his scar. </p><p>“She was my best friend. She <i>is</i> my best friend. We always knew we’d get married. At first because we thought it was, y’know, romantic. And then we knew it really wasn’t. But I’m the Crown Prince and she’s nobility and the person I trust most in the world. I need an heir one day. But even if that wasn’t…” He shrugs, uncomfortable admitting he has something good for himself. “We love each other. And we want a life together. Even if it seems strange to people, even if they assume things about us.”</p><p>Sokka can’t help the nagging voice crying, <i>what about me?</i> But he tries to push it down, tries to open his mind and really understand.</p><p>They love each other like Sokka loves— </p><p>Well. Sokka doesn’t love anyone like that. Any of his friends he’d think to compare it to haven’t heard from him in weeks. Not because he doesn’t love them, but because he's— </p><p>“Sokka?” Zuko’s hand touches his shoulder and Sokka’s head whips up.</p><p>“I— Sorry.” Sokka takes a moment, and then looks Zuko in the eye. “I think, um— It’s amazing, Zuko. That you have each other. I really mean it.”</p><p>“You’re… you’re okay with it?” Zuko says, a hopefulness to his face.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Sokka says, surprising himself with his honesty. “I’m happy that you have that. But I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t really see how I fit in it.” </p><p>“But… It’s not a puzzle, we fit if we both want it—”</p><p>“You’re building your life with Mai,” Sokka says. “You’re making decisions based on that. And you’re going to be the Fire Lord. There’s no—” </p><p>“There’s no what?” </p><p>He breathes heavily, struggling to say this kindly. “Your life is established. And it’s great. You have someone you love, and the ability to make a difference in the world. But it’s inflexible. I knew that going in, that you wanted a fling before you got married. But now I—”</p><p>Zuko freezes. Sokka’s train of thought follows.</p><p>Sokka is intensely aware that he’s not touching him. Not near enough for his hip to brush Zuko’s knee, no warm hand between his own. Any contact at all would soften the blow of hurt and confusion across Zuko’s face. Sokka can’t temper it. He can only watch.</p><p>“You thought this was a fling?” Zuko says, voice raw.</p><p>Blood rushes in Sokka’s ears. “Wasn’t it?” </p><p>Zuko wraps his arms around his middle. Clearly… clearly it wasn’t. Not to him.</p><p>“I thought…”</p><p>“Zuko,” Sokka whispers. The ocean goes silent, waiting with baited breath.</p><p>He shakes his head once. “I thought we were becoming a flock.”</p><p>The world is unnaturally still. It’s what that little voice in him hoped for, for Zuko to love him back. For a long moment he can’t move or breathe or blink. </p><p>“No,” he says.</p><p>Something in him starts to unravel, or maybe the opposite. The source of that oozing dark feeling stretching into heavy strands, turning back in on itself, condensing and doubling down. </p><p>Zuko takes a shuddering breath.</p><p>“What?” he says, so quiet it's almost inaudible.</p><p>“You can’t.” He can’t want to make up with him. Zuko can’t want to see any more of him.</p><p>“But you said— you wanted to fix things—”</p><p>“You can’t love me, you <i>don’t.</i>” Because if he did that would mean— It would mean—</p><p>Zuko looks away, ducks his head. </p><p>“Wait, I’m sorry,” Sokka says, dragging himself away from the muck that clings to him and tries to pull him down into itself until he suffocates on it. </p><p>Given away by the small noise he makes into his hand, Zuko starts to cry.</p><p>No. No, <i>no.</i> The grime seems to disappear, leaving behind only raw skin that aches in the open air, mistakes presented for his own scrutiny.</p><p>Sokka reaches out a hand and lays it on Zuko’s trembling shoulder.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sokka says, distraught. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry.”</p><p>Zuko shakes his head again.</p><p>“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” He lifts his head and wipes his face, still turned away from Sokka. “You don’t feel the same and that’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. I thought because you said you didn’t want to break up that— But you didn’t say that did you? You never said ‘break up’ because… because we aren’t together.” </p><p>His voice shakes at the end and he cuts himself off to take a deep breath and stands, pulling away from Sokka’s hand.</p><p>“I—” Sokka says. His voice fails him.</p><p>“I’ll see you at the next sitting,” Zuko says, and walks toward the door.</p><p>Before he can leave, Sokka moves to follow him. He says hoarsely, “Wait,” and then clearer, “Wait!”</p><p>Zuko stops, but doesn’t turn.</p><p>Fuck. What does he say? How does he fix this? A second passes and then another, and Sokka feels the moment slipping away, the chance he didn’t bother to imagine, he didn’t think he could have.</p><p>“I wanted to be,” Sokka confesses, voice breaking. Not thinking, just saying whatever comes into his mind, grasping at anything his fingers touch, anything that feels right and true. “I want to be together. I want that so much. I thought that you didn’t. And I’ve been falling in love with you anyway.”</p><p>For a long moment Sokka thinks he won’t turn back. But he does. </p><p>The expression on Zuko's face is broken — flushed, teary, angry. </p><p>He stalks forward. Sokka braces himself. For what, he doesn’t know.</p><p>In a blink Zuko’s in his space, kissing him fiercely. Teeth press into Sokka’s lip, he’s not sure whose. He clenches his fists in Zuko’s tunic, holding him as close as Zuko will let him.</p><p><i>Bite me,</i> he thinks. <i>Hurt me, if that will let you forgive me.</i></p><p>Zuko pulls away and says through his clenched jaw, “I hate you.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sokka says desperately. “I love you.”</p><p>Zuko blinks away tears and pulls him in again.</p><p>His tongue soothes the split in Sokka’s lip. Sokka can’t think. He can’t feel anything else and doesn’t want to. There’s only a wave that prickles behind his eyes and makes his breath come faster.</p><p>Zuko’s hands clutch his head. All he can do is receive every pulse of Zuko’s mouth against his, moving in and out like the tide. First rough and bright and biting, then salty with tears. He gentles as Sokka pets his back and wraps his arms firmly around him, not letting him go. </p><p>Sokka takes the lead from him, falls into the tender exploring Zuko showed him the first time. Sokka can kiss him the way he likes. He can give him something. One tiny thing to convince him he’s worth something, that he’s not just frustration and heartbreak.</p><p>There’s more to talk about. But for now Sokka just wants to be here with him.</p><p>The sun rises.</p><p>Sokka’s lips catch against Zuko’s cheek as Zuko pulls away, turning his face to the first rays like he can’t help it. He breathes deeply, firmly, and Sokka can feel him light up under his skin. Warm, ringing with energy.</p><p>Sokka soaks him up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There must be a boatload of things Zuko can’t stand resting on his shoulders. Sokka can’t take them, but he can make sure his own disappointment isn’t one of them. He'll carry anything he has to.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you again for all your thoughtful comments!! i'm hoping to go on another reply spree in the next couple days. i appreciate you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Sokka and Zuko descend the stairs from the roof, exhausted, the door to the third floor apartment opens.</p><p>Natsiq’s dark eyebrows are furrowed with concern. As soon as they register Sokka, they breathe a sigh of relief accompanied by a large gesture that ends with them shoving their loose hair back from their face.</p><p>“Where have you been?” they whisper loudly, shaking their head.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Sokka says, too loudly for the early hour. </p><p>Natsiq looks toward him and asks again, “<i>Where have you been?</i> We were ready to send everyone searching. Aklaq barely slept. She’s eight-and-a-half months pregnant Sokka, she can hardly sleep to begin with!”</p><p>“Sorry,” Sokka says. “I was just. On the roof.”</p><p>“The roof,” Natsiq repeats. “Why were you—”</p><p>Sokka watches as Natsiq’s eyes finally move to Zuko, half standing behind him.</p><p>There’s a moment of confusion where Zuko moves in closer, like he could actually hide behind Sokka. He seems to realize what he’s doing a second after Sokka does, and quickly sucks in a breath and steps forward, meeting Natsiq’s eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry for keeping him,” Zuko says easily. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Zuko.”</p><p>A beat of silence passes. Natsiq says, “Crown Prince Zuko.”</p><p>“No,” he says, unshaken. “Not here. Just Zuko.”</p><p>Sokka’s heart pounds in the brief silence that follows.</p><p>Natsiq offers their hand. Zuko grasps their forearm confidently, like he’s done it a thousand times before.</p><p>“Natsiq. Nice to meet you, Zuko.”</p><p>They part and stand there awkwardly for a moment before Natsiq gives Sokka a pointed look. Right. He didn’t check in with them last night.</p><p>“I have to— um—” Sokka says, turning to Zuko, but Zuko cuts him off.</p><p>“I should go,” Zuko says. “Ikue will come by later to see the painting. It was nice to meet you.”</p><p>He turns toward the stairs, brushing a secret touch against the side of Sokka’s hip, and then he’s gone with a distant patter of footsteps.</p><p>Natsiq raises an eyebrow and Sokka’s face goes hot. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. To which he’s grateful, because he’s emotionally exhausted and starving, and who knows what incriminating nonsense would fall out if he could muster the words.</p><p>Sokka’s stomach growls and Natsiq visibly gives in. </p><p>“Come in,” they say, holding the door open. “Come explain yourself to my wife.”</p><p>Their apartment is a mirror of his own, familiar but strange at the same time. He follows Natsiq to a table next to a window, across the room from the stove. Aklaq sits there shifting in her chair, pulling a damp cloth from behind her and refreezing it.</p><p>Her face changes instantly, from pained to relieved, finally landing on a fiery look that reminds him viscerally of Katara.</p><p>His body braces itself to be scolded. But instead Aklaq simply shakes her head, turns to Natsiq and sighs, “You are the best husband.” She lays her head in her hand for a moment.</p><p>Oh. He really messed up.</p><p>“I’m sorry, auntie,” Sokka says regretfully, going to her and laying an apologetic touch on her shoulder.</p><p>She peeks at him from behind her hand. “I was up all night worrying about you. Where <i>were you</i>?”</p><p>“I…” he starts, but finds himself too tired to lie. “I was on the roof.”</p><p>“Why were you on the roof?” Aklaq says, going pale.</p><p>“No, I wasn't going to— I was being propositioned by the Prince.” </p><p>There’s a clang from behind them as Natsiq fumbles something at the stove. Aklaq’s mouth drops open in shock.</p><p>“Wait— No! Not like that,” Sokka waves his hands frantically. “I meant—”</p><p>Aklaq starts to turn angry red. It looks like it must hurt.</p><p>“I mean he— We’ve been seeing each other. I meant that he was asking me if I wanted to… go for it. For real.”</p><p>He doesn’t know what reaction he expects to that. If he were wiser, less impulsive, he might have considered shutting his mouth. But it’s too late for that now.</p><p>“Sokka,” Aklaq says slowly. “The Prince is getting married.”</p><p>“They—” Sokka doesn’t know how much he’s allowed to share. “They are.”</p><p>“They’re already looking for another husband?”</p><p>“They don’t do it that way in the Fire Nation,” Natsiq says. They set the pot of ptarmigan-duck soup down on the table and taking a seat across from Aklaq.</p><p>“Then what, they’re playing around? They want to keep him on hold?”</p><p>“No,” Sokka insists. “It’s not ‘playing around’. And it’s not both of them, I’m only— it’s just Zuko.”</p><p>Natsiq serves them all stew. Once they’ve said thank you and begun to eat, Sokka dares to look up. </p><p>Aklaq looks terribly sad.</p><p>She eats her meal silently. When half of it is gone she swallows heavily and says, “Things are worse than I thought. This isn’t like you.”</p><p>Sokka lowers his spoon into his bowl.</p><p>“We let things get this bad,” she says to Natsiq. “He’s so young and on his own. We’re supposed to watch over him.”</p><p>“What—” Sokka asks. “Wait, what are you talking about?”</p><p>Aklaq has her head in her hand again. Natsiq turns to him, face a picture of concern.</p><p>“To go behind a woman’s back like this,” they say gently. “It’s not right. You know that.”</p><p>It takes a few moments before Sokka realizes what they’re saying. </p><p>“I’m not a— a cheater,” Sokka says. “I would never—”</p><p>“They don’t have rain marriages in the Fire Nation,” Natsiq repeats. “It’s not done. And you’re only involved with the Prince—”</p><p>“But Mai knows— the Princess. She’s okay with it, she told me herself. They— they have an arrangement.”</p><p>“It explains all the sneaking around,” Aklaq says, still looking at Natsiq.</p><p>Late night excursions aren’t unusual for Sokka — he’s never had a consistent sleep schedule. Apparently he hasn’t been so subtle about not being alone. He flushes thinking of everything they could’ve overheard.</p><p>He shoves a spoonful of steaming broth and rice into his mouth as an excuse not to talk. Despite Natsiq’s wonderful cooking, the food feels like sawdust in his mouth.</p><p>He didn’t realize how seriously his neighbors had taken the task of looking out for him. That’s how it was back in his village — everyone looked out for each other. But the two of them take it to heart, take Sokka’s failures as their own. That’s how they see his relationship with Zuko — a failure.</p><p>Aklaq and Natsiq finish their meals while Sokka pushes food around in his bowl, unable to eat any more even though he knows he’s being rude.</p><p>“I’m sorry for being a bother, for making trouble for you,” Sokka says quietly. “I promise, everyone involved knows what they’re getting into.”</p><p>“Have you talked about what his life is going to be like once he’s Fire Lord?” Natsiq asks.</p><p>“We will. We can work it out, we’ll find a way. It’s not that far from the City, and he’ll travel here all the time anyway. My job is flexible, there’s a lot I can do away from the studio. Or take time away and still have enough money to—”</p><p>“Are you planning to move to the Fire Nation? <i>Sokka.</i>” Aklaq pushes her empty bowl away. </p><p>His gut turns hard. “I’m not moving anywhere. I’m not going anywhere permanently or leaving this place for anywhere else.” </p><p>This is the only place where he feels safe. Where he can let anything out. Where he can feel anything besides relentless buzzing energy that won’t let him go, that keeps him awake for days and jumping at sudden noises in the silence of freshly fallen snow.</p><p>“I’m not leaving Republic City,” he repeats thickly. “Ever.”</p><p>“Kid,” Natsiq says gently. “Are you sure this is a good idea? It’s been a week, you barely know each other. It’s a big deal.”</p><p>“He knows me.” Zuko has held him while he cried. Zuko has seen his worst side and forgiven him. Zuko knows his heart.</p><p>“But how much do you know about <i>him?</i>”</p><p>“I know enough,” Sokka says frustrated. “I know he’s trustworthy, he’s kind. He’s not— Whatever you think is going on here, it’s not like that.”</p><p>“I’m not trying to insinuate that he’s taking advantage of you,” Natsiq says.</p><p>“Aren’t you?”</p><p>“Sokka,” Aklaq says. “The war ended just ten years ago. I know that seems like a long time, but the Fire Nation held the rest of the world hostage for <i>generations</i>. The situation is bigger than just the two of you. There’s a huge responsibility on the Prince’s shoulders to maintain the transition to peace.”</p><p>Sokka quiets.</p><p>She continues, “Navigating a new relationship on top of that— especially an unconventional one that has to be secret...” She places her hand on Sokka’s arm. “You can see why we’re concerned for you. We don’t want you to get hurt.”</p><p>Some part of him recognizes that she’s right. Zuko has never said it, but they have been keeping their relationship secret. He’s alluded to the pressure he feels but Sokka has never given it the consideration it deserves. It is a huge responsibility. </p><p>“But isn’t that what relationships are for? To support each other through difficult times?” Sokka thinks aloud.</p><p>“Can he support you right now? With everything <i>you’re</i> going through?”</p><p>His chest floods with doubt. It’s like Aklaq said. Zuko is important. Sokka must be at the bottom of his list of priorities.</p><p>And Sokka can barely keep himself together. In the past day he’s been careless and hurt himself, hurt Zuko, had to be babied and held and healed. He’s a drain on everyone around him. That’s why he’s kept his distance from everyone. Not answering letters, hoping they’ll forget him even though it breaks his heart.</p><p>But. He feels good around Zuko. This is the one good thing in his life right now. Zuko wants him and if Sokka lets go of that, what does he have left?</p><p>“I don’t want to give this up,” he admits. “Please don’t tell me to. Please don’t make me.”</p><p>“We would never make you do something you don’t want to,” Natsiq says.</p><p>“Your life is your own, berry. We only want you to understand that the water might be cold before you jump in.”</p><p>Sokka forces himself to finish his meal and thinks.</p><p>---</p><p>After their first awkward couples sitting — both Mai and Sokka know he hasn’t been on his best behavior, and the bad taste it’s left in her mouth is palpable — Zuko invites him to stay the night at his suite at the embassy. A re-do of the last time.</p><p>It’s exactly what Sokka wants: a moment of calm to reconnect, to settle back into the path they were on before.</p><p>The floors of the lobby are just as shiny, the walls just as red. The inner hallways would be dark even in the daytime, lacking windows and lit only by the soft glow of lanterns.</p><p>It’s the same for Zuko’s suite: a large sitting area featuring a lit fireplace at one end with a lounge in front, a low table with seating cushions surrounding it, a desk in the back corner. </p><p>Zuko collapses onto the sofa as soon as they enter, holding his arms out to Sokka.</p><p>“Hard work sitting still for an hour?” Sokka says and lays beside him.</p><p>“Don’t make fun of me,” Zuko pouts.</p><p>“I’m not! I promise.”</p><p>“You’re one to talk. I’m sure painting is just a breeze.”</p><p>Sokka scoffs and Zuko breaks, letting loose a chuckle like a string of pearls.</p><p>“I’m just teasing you.”</p><p>“Mhm. But if I say that the critics were too harsh on Sorrow of the Last Dragon, that’s unforgivable.”</p><p>A familiar look of irritation blooms on Zuko’s face. “The costume design was awful. I could see the raw hems from the box seat. Those robes should never have been allowed on stage. And they were completely inaccurate for the time period—”</p><p>Sokka can’t help it, he kisses him. It’s completely different from their last kiss — happy, quiet, calm. He missed this so much. Zuko’s lips feel so good he could cry.</p><p>Zuko stills for a moment before gifting Sokka another quiet laugh against his mouth.</p><p>“You like it when I complain?” he murmurs.</p><p>“Yeah, I do.”</p><p>“Hm.” He thinks for a moment before whining, “How come you’re not touching my hair?”</p><p>Sokka grins against Zuko’s cheek and worms a hand up between Zuko’s back and the couch until he can slide his fingers up the back of his head and tug at the crown pinned there.</p><p>“Ow!” Zuko frowns.</p><p>“Is this not what you meant?” Sokka gives it a little wiggle back and forth.</p><p>“Take it out,” Zuko commands.</p><p>“As you wish, Fire Lord Zuko.” </p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Zuko groans at the title. </p><p>Sokka removes the pin and shakes loose the crown from Zuko’s topknot. He’s seen Zuko toss the piece around, but it’s too packed full of gems for him to bring himself to drop it on the floor. He sits up and places it on the end table behind him.</p><p>Zuko looks relaxed and sweet when Sokka turns back, scrunching his fingers through his hair. His scalp must be sore after wearing it up all day.</p><p>“C’mere,” Sokka says, pulling him up.</p><p>“Nnn.” He groans again but goes. </p><p>Sokka pulls him in until his forehead rests against Sokka’s collarbone. He draws his fingers through the hair at Zuko’s temples — gently on the left side — to the sore area, massaging until Zuko starts to huff little contented breaths against Sokka’s chest.</p><p>After a while of that, Sokka starts to comb his fingers through. His fingers move easily, hardly any tangles to contend with. He sinks into the repetitive motion, the warmth of Zuko against him, the dancing light of the fire, the comfortable sofa to lean his side against. His heart is full and heavy, bulging with tender emotion.</p><p>Once Zuko’s hair can’t be untangled any further, Sokka braids it loosely and lets his hands rest on his back, holding him close. </p><p>Zuko makes a quiet sound in his throat.</p><p>“Hmm?” Sokka says. “What’s that?”</p><p>“That feels good,” Zuko murmurs. “Thank you.”</p><p>Sokka’s chest aches, a feeling so beautiful it hurts. “Of course. Always.”</p><p>They recline again, Sokka moving Zuko on top of him, and lay quietly. </p><p>He feels the rise and fall of Zuko’s breaths under his hand and thinks of the ship that will come for him next week. He wonders what Zuko’s quarters at the palace are like, if it’s dark and red like this place, like living inside some poor sap’s love-cursed heart.</p><p>---</p><p>“My neighbors got me thinking,” Sokka says the next morning. </p><p>They’re in a private breakfast room, the centerpiece of this floor of the building. Dawn light peeks through the metal structure that protects the skylight above and casts a beautiful shadow over their meal.</p><p>Even as his gut turns with what he needs to say, Sokka admires Zuko from across the table. His hair sleep-mussed and still in his dressing gown, a mark from Sokka’s mouth at the base of his neck.</p><p>“About what?” Zuko says, mouth full of rice and fish. He’s been letting his guard down a little more lately, forgoing the Fire Nation court manners. Turns out the Crown Prince is a messy eater.</p><p>“We talked after you left—” Sokka shakes his head, starts from the beginning. “I kinda had to tell them about us. I hope that’s okay.”</p><p>At the sound of Zuko setting his chopsticks down, Sokka looks up from his plate.</p><p>“Oh,” he realizes.</p><p>Zuko swallows heavily. “It— It’ll be fine.”</p><p>“You don’t seem very sure.”</p><p>“It’s not that I don’t want you to tell people you trust. It’s just complicated.”</p><p>“That’s what Natsiq said.” Sokka deflates.</p><p>“What? What did they say?” </p><p>“They said that you don’t do marriages of three in the Fire Nation. The ceremony you’re having is to bind only the two of you. For the rest of your lives.”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“So what we’re doing is— not your custom. It wouldn’t be accepted by your people.”</p><p>“Right.” Zuko looks down at his hands. </p><p>Sokka feels frustrated, unable to get Zuko to give him anything more than single word acknowledgements. “Is that why you don’t want anyone to know?” he asks directly.</p><p>“That’s <i>not</i> what I want,” Zuko retorts.</p><p>“Sorry.” Sokka draws back. “I’m not trying to put words in your mouth. I get it, what you personally want might be different from what— what the situation demands. But I can’t walk into this without knowing what I’m getting into.”</p><p>“No, you’re right.” Zuko stares down at his cup of tea growing cold on the table. </p><p>“Give me anything,” he asks.</p><p>Zuko begins haltingly. “It’s not talked about in polite company. But— I’ve had to study detailed history ever since I was a child to prepare for my new role. I’ve read everything I can get my hands on. Including old diary entries of past Fire Lords and other members of the court. I found that… it’s fairly common to have relationships like these.”</p><p>Sokka’s shoulders drop in relief. “I thought you said—”</p><p>“It’s normal in that it happens a lot, but,” Zuko pushes on, “it’s taboo. Among royalty, every marriage is political. I can’t tell you how lucky I am that one of my best matches happened to be someone I love. But everyone knows that when it’s not, there will be—” </p><p>Zuko exhales roughly. “Outside the palace, it’s a <i>joke</i>. The long-suffering Fire Lady looks the other way. And the Fire Lord can do anything he likes as the ultimate authority of the Fire Nation. A human descendant of dragons. And the other person, his love, they’re...” </p><p>Zuko trails off, but Sokka can fill in the rest himself. The cavern in him deepens, a dark void.</p><p>“So Aklaq and Natsiq were right,” Sokka says. “When I first told them, they thought you were cheating on Mai. I told them it wasn’t true. But you’re saying if it comes out, that’s what <i>everyone</i> will think.”</p><p>Zuko's voice is quiet. “I don’t want to make a fool of you, Sokka."</p><p>Sokka nods, voiceless. Their love will be Zuko’s shame. The knowledge echoes through him, knocking against every jagged edge and ringing back at him again and again.</p><p>“I wish it was different. I wish I could—” Zuko breaks off. “There are treaties in the works, agreements, legislation that will really help people. It’s all so fragile. If this comes out, that will all be disrupted. I wish…”</p><p>“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” </p><p>It’s not Zuko’s fault. But it is like Aklaq was trying to tell him. </p><p>Sokka stands, walks to the other end of the room before he remembers there are no windows in here to look out. He feels like he might explode— some mixture of emotion he can’t name bearing down on him like a tidal wave. It’s not fair. He feels like he’s already the fool.</p><p>He can’t bear to be boxed in this place anymore. Maybe Zuko can’t either.</p><p>There must be a boatload of things Zuko can’t stand resting on his shoulders. Sokka can’t take them, but he can make sure his own disappointment isn’t one of them. Aklaq and Natsiq are wrong about that. He can do this. He can make this work. He’ll carry anything he has to.</p><p>He swallows everything he feels and turns back to Zuko, determined.</p><p>“I know you have meetings to get to today, but will you meet me tonight?”</p><p>Zuko offers him a smile, the barest of things.</p><p>---</p><p>It’s foggy that morning and Sokka soaks it up like a sponge on the ride back to his apartment. When he arrives, he opens the windows in the studio, hoping a wisp of the cloud will make its way inside. </p><p>He’s only been awake at this time of morning a few times; usually when he’s accidentally stayed up all night without sleeping at all. It feels different today. Cool mist in his lungs, soaking into his skin. Invigorating, like a swim in the cold ocean and the rush of warmth and endorphins afterwards.</p><p>The pile of unanswered letters sits under a stack of sketchbooks on his desk. The first is from Katara, the one he told himself he’d answer two weeks ago and hasn’t.</p><p>She wants his comfort, his advice for feeling ill-equipped for the job she’s been tasked. But she’s the only one who can do it. He doesn’t believe in destiny, but if it existed, she’d be the person to have one.</p><p>The responsibility he feels to be a rock for her is enormous. He can afford to fuck up everything else in his life. But he can never, ever fall short of what she needs from him.</p><p>He writes her 7 letters, only rolling up the final one to be delivered. It takes long enough that he has to get up to eat, and by then he starts to lose motivation.</p><p>Katara asks about his life every time. She’s kind that way. But he doesn’t want to pass any of his stress off onto her. She has enough on her plate, and he only wants to be a positive presence in her life.</p><p>But the others — he has no excuse to keep from dumping every detail of the past 2 weeks on them. He feels fine. He <i>is</i> fine. He’s confident, he’s determined. He hasn’t felt as focused as he does today in a long, long time. </p><p>And yet, when he pulls out a sheet of parchment to write to Suki, Sokka finds himself pouring two-and-a-half pages of worries and anxieties onto the paper. </p><p>He crumples it up. It isn’t fair to her, or anyone else he might write to, to disappear for months and finally reach out only to complain about his love life.</p><p>Besides, he can’t tell anyone about him and Zuko anyway.</p><p>---</p><p>Sokka leads them up the cliff, the same path they traversed the first time. Zuko lights the way with a handful of fire, dancing off ridged boulders and clinging lichen.</p><p>When they reach the top of the bluff, Zuko huffs a little laugh at the scene Sokka’s created: a rough woven blanket with candles holding down each corner, a basket at the center filled with food and drink. It’s warm, intimate, romantic. It’s some of his best work.</p><p>“Surprise,” Sokka says.</p><p>Zuko turns to him with a little grin. “I can’t believe this.”</p><p>“Light the candles for us?” Sokka says in his flirtiest voice. </p><p>Zuko laughs that puff of laughter again and does.</p><p>They settle with their skewered meat and vegetables and Sokka pours glasses of berry-plum wine for them to share. </p><p>Sokka tells Zuko about his day, leaving out the hard parts like the letter he couldn’t bring himself to send to Suki, or the way the awkward silence during the couples sittings has started to make him doubt his brushstrokes. </p><p>Instead he talks about the bird that flew into his window that morning and pooped on his floor while he chased it around with a broom, exaggerating his hand movements for Zuko’s enjoyment.</p><p>“But the window stays open. I haven't learned a thing,” he finishes. He takes a sip of wine, enjoying Zuko’s happy flush. “How was your day?”</p><p>Zuko’s smile dims. “It was fine. ”</p><p>“It seems like it wasn’t fine,” Sokka says. </p><p>“It—” Zuko’s shoulders hunch. “Sokka, really. I can’t.”</p><p>“Is it like, top secret?” </p><p>“It’s not a secret,” Zuko says quietly.</p><p>Sokka moves in and sets a hand on Zuko’s knee, his voice turning serious. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”</p><p>Zuko presses his lips together. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t want to make any problems. I feel like all I ever have for you is bad news.”</p><p>“Sometimes you have a bad week. Telling me what’s really going on in your life isn’t going to make problems. I just want to be here for you.”</p><p>Zuko splits a slice of cherry plum with his chopsticks, dark juice spilling across his bowl. </p><p>The thick spices from the meal start to feel suffocating in their warm bubble of candlelight. Sokka is grateful when the wind picks up for a moment, ruffling their clothes.</p><p>“It’s nothing, really. I’m overreacting,” Zuko says.</p><p>“So overreact. I do it all the time, it’s nice to get it all out sometimes. Tell me what happened.”</p><p>His shoulders are hunched, but he speaks. “During the meeting, one of my generals said something.”</p><p>“He said something... disrespectful?” Zuko’s under constant threat of assassination, Sokka realizes, gut sinking. “Or worse? What did he say to you?”</p><p>“It wasn’t to me, and it wasn’t — I guess it was disrespectful.” Zuko sets his bowl down haphazardly, utensils clinking against the tiffin. “We were discussing an agreement with the Earth Kingdom on restoring some former war zones. Planting trees, building houses. I said that I’d consult my advisors and return with an answer tomorrow. Then as we left, my general said something about, ‘our Prince, who can’t decide what tea he’d like without consulting a committee.’ It was so off-handed, like it was obvious to everyone in the room that I’m— that I’m incompetent.”</p><p>“That asshole,” Sokka curses. “No one stood up for you?”</p><p>Zuko shakes his head. “No. Like they all agreed.”</p><p>“That can’t be true.” Sokka’s not sure what else to say, in disbelief. “They can’t think that.”</p><p>“It felt like everyone was waiting for me to react. And I didn’t. I just froze. As if it wasn’t happening.” Zuko makes a pained noise. “I didn’t do <i>anything</i>. I just let him. I couldn’t even look at him. What is wrong with me?”</p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Sokka scoots in closer and wraps an arm around his back. </p><p>“But there is,” Zuko insists. “There must be. I’m supposed to— to lead a country and I can’t even— He insulted me in front of the whole meeting room.”</p><p>Zuko’s breath quickens and he tears himself away and leaps to his feet. Sokka sits back and lets him go. </p><p>At Sokka’s eye level, Zuko’s hands clench so hard he looks like he’s going to pull something. Sokka grabs the nearest one in his.</p><p>“Hey, c’mon,” Sokka says gently, standing up  as well. “Maybe it’s not so bad to take a moment to think instead of acting impulsively. We can figure out what to do.”</p><p>“I don’t get it,” Zuko says, voice tight with emotion. “If I act, I’m impulsive. If I don’t, I’m cowardly. If I’m hurt by it, I’m too sensitive; if I let it go, I’m oblivious. If I consult my advisors, I’m indecisive but if I don’t I’m a <i>tyrant.</i> Like— like my father.” </p><p>“You are <i>not</i> like your father,” Sokka insists. He watches the rise and fall of Zuko’s shoulders as his chest heaves, face blocked from view. Zuko’s clenched fist trembles in his hand.</p><p>“Not even the good parts. I acted like a deer-hare frozen in front of a cart.”</p><p>“It would have looked just as bad to show cracks between you and a high-ranking general in front of the Earth Kingdom officials. What were you supposed to do, scold him in the middle of the meeting?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Zuko yells. Sokka yanks his hand back to his chest, taken aback. “I never know the right thing to do. No matter what I choose, someone is angry with me. I do consult a committee about everything, because then at least I can predict who it will be. And I <i>do</i> ask my uncle what tea I should try. That’s why it is so humiliating— the general was <i>right.</i></p><p>”I’m going to be the worst Fire Lord in history. I’m going to fuck everything up. All the treaties will fall apart and everyone will hate me and the assassination attempts will rev up again—” Zuko falls back to his knees, sitting heavily on his legs, face in his hands. “Oh Gods, they’re going to come for me. They’re going to come for Mai.”</p><p>He looks up then, eyes wide and face pale with fear, spiralling quickly. Sokka can’t keep up with him. “No one can know I’m here. No one can know about you. They’re going to come and find you—”</p><p>“Zuko,” Sokka says, finally finding his voice. His heart beats loudly in his ears. “Zuko, come here.”</p><p>Sokka pulls him in, hugs him lightly and Zuko jerks in his hold. Like trying to pin down a fish loose from the net, Sokka tightens his arms instinctively. It seems to help because Zuko stills. </p><p>Zuko’s worrying devolves into quiet pleading. “No, no, no.” His voice is tiny, pattering against Sokka’s shoulder. It’s a gross mirror to the night before, when Sokka held him gently and combed his hair. </p><p>Many minutes pass. “It’s okay,” Sokka murmurs into his ear. “We’re safe.”</p><p>He has no idea what he’s doing but he hopes it’s enough.</p><p>A cloud moves in, a dense wall of water that he breathes in greedily. Zuko’s head eases up.</p><p>“Cold,” he croaks.</p><p>“Fog’s rolling in,” Sokka says.</p><p>Zuko lights a flame somewhere behind Sokka’s back, orange lighting Zuko’s face out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“I can’t see anything,” Zuko says.</p><p>“Yeah, it does that. The light reflects back because of all the water in the air.”</p><p>“Oh.” Zuko moves closer into his embrace. His fire goes out, leaving them in the low candlelight again. A blurry bubble in the dark. “How are we going to get back?”</p><p>Sokka shakes his head. He didn’t think they’d be out here this long. He can hardly think. His mind is so so tired.</p><p>“We’ll figure something out,” Sokka says.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>They’re quiet for a while. The air between them grows warmer, until the temperature is comfortable for them both. As it happens, Zuko’s breaths take on a shallow, pensive quality.</p><p>Sokka tries to let his mind go blank. Instead it flutters anxiously around the problem of Zuko’s general like a gnat-fly. What could Zuko say to make him back down? How many ways could it go wrong? What’s the one path — the puzzle, the pai sho game in reverse, a series of small moves that gets Zuko comfortable in his position, surrounded by people he trusts?</p><p>It’s not something he has anywhere near the knowledge and expertise to help with. Frazzled energy churns in his chest.</p><p>Zuko murmurs something too quiet for Sokka to hear. And then again, “It can’t go on like this.”</p><p>“With the general?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Zuko sighs. “Or maybe more than the general.”</p><p>“What’s your plan?” Sokka’s mind races, drunk with exhaustion.</p><p>“I don’t have one yet,” Zuko says. “Maybe… maybe a first step. I’m not sure yet.” He sighs through his nose. “I need to ask for some advice first.”</p><p>“Okay. Tell me when you know.”</p><p>Zuko lifts his head. “When I have something to tell, I will.”</p><p>—-</p><p>The painting fights him all through the next session. Sokka stares at the stone. The stone stares back, just the basic planes of faces. Mai sighs. Zuko nudges her pointedly with his foot.</p><p><i>Tell me what to do next,</i> Sokka thinks.</p><p>The stone says nothing.</p><p>---</p><p>“Mai hates me,” Sokka says, back in Zuko’s suite at the Fire Nation embassy.</p><p>Zuko falters, taking his hair down from it’s topknot. “I don’t think so,” he says, unconvincingly.</p><p> “I’m—” Sokka’s voice catches in his throat for a moment. “I know I haven’t been on my best behavior. I’d understand if she did.”</p><p>“What makes you think she hates you?” Zuko struggles with the pins in his hair. </p><p>“Come on.” Sokka shakes his head — or rather, rolls it back and forth across the back of the couch. “You were there, you saw it.”</p><p>“She doesn’t really like making conversation with anybody. Not even me.”</p><p>“That’s how she acts around you?” Sokka asks, incredulous.</p><p>“Well. No.”</p><p>“Okay. So. Your betrothed hates me. That’s— We’ll just figure out what to do next.” </p><p>There must be a way to win her over. Sokka can buy her flowers. Actually, that might make her hate him more. Maybe he’ll get her a cool knife. He doesn’t know anything about knives, so he’ll have to talk to Qimmik, the butcher. In the meantime he can just stop trying to make small talk with her, because apparently that’s not her thing. He can get on board with that.</p><p>“She doesn’t— I’m sure she doesn’t <i>hate</i> you. I like you, I want you in my life, so at the very least she likes that you make me happy.”</p><p>Sokka wilts. “So she’ll put up with me because of the <i>service</i> I provide to you?”</p><p>“That’s not what I—” Zuko sighs. “I guess that isn’t very reassuring.”</p><p>“Did she say anything to you?” </p><p>Zuko’s hand comes to his temple. “Sokka, I don’t know what you want me to say.”</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>“Why does everyone think this is a bad idea,” Sokka mutters to himself.</p><p>“What?” Zuko drops his hand. “What does that mean?”</p><p>“Nothing, nevermind.”</p><p>“No, tell me. If someone is saying that, I want to know—”</p><p>“Really, it’s—”</p><p>“Sokka.”</p><p>“Fine! Fine.” Sokka shakes his head. “When I talked to Natsiq and Aklaq— It’s like I told you, they had concerns.”</p><p>“Oh,” Zuko says weakly.</p><p>“They think with the Fire Nation’s transition of power upcoming, that it’s too much stress to navigate an <i>untraditional</i> relationship. They pretty much said they thought it was an awful idea.”</p><p>He can’t escape the swell of embarrassment at the memory. They thought Zuko was cheating on Mai with him. How would he have done such a thing and not even have the decency to hide it from them? For a short while — half a meal — that’s what they thought of him. A cheat and a fool. An embarrassment.</p><p>He notices a few moments too late how quiet the room is. Zuko eyes are fixed on the floor, unseeing, his arms tight around his middle.</p><p>“Zuko?” Sokka places a hand on his back and Zuko shakes under him. He snatches his hand away. “I’m sorry. Can I— Where’s your medicine?”</p><p>He jumps to his feet to ask the guard on the other side of the door. The guard calls down to their companion at the end of the hall who leaves briskly and returns after a minute with a vial of clear amber liquid and a sachet of ice. </p><p>All the while, Sokka waits anxiously, heart pounding at the memory of Zuko shuddering on the hard floor of the studio. </p><p>As soon as the guard returns, he bursts back into the sitting room, trying to be as quiet and fast as he can.</p><p>Zuko’s just where he left him, bent over with his head down.</p><p>“Here, lay back,” Sokka says.</p><p>“No,” Zuko croaks. “It’s not my head. It’s okay.” </p><p>“It’s not?”</p><p>“Nngh,” Zuko grunts. He holds himself tighter. Sokka watches his slim fingers tighten in his dark silk robes.</p><p>“What is it? How can I help you?”</p><p>“I don’t—” Zuko’s breath stutters. “What if they’re right?”</p><p>An awful feeling twists in Sokka’s gut. “What?”</p><p>“What if they’re right? If everyone thinks this is a bad idea—” Zuko’s voice comes faster, interspersed with shaky breaths. “And they’re right, if it gets out— it could be a scandal, all this hard work everyone’s doing could be for nothing. I have no idea what I’m doing, Sokka. I’m just— doing what smarter people tell me. I don’t know— What if this <i>is</i> all a mistake?”</p><p>Sokka's chest feels like it's cracking in half.</p><p>“It’s <i>not</i>.” He moves closer, coming to his knees in front of Zuko. He can’t stop tears from welling up. His voice is steady. “Look at me?” </p><p>Zuko raises his head but his eyes don’t quite find Sokka’s, landing somewhere low on his face. That’s okay. </p><p>“I love you. That’s not wrong. That’s not a mistake. It can’t be a mistake.”</p><p>“This is the one thing,” Zuko says, “that I did for myself. And everyone thinks it’s bad. I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>“We can figure it out.” A tear slips down his cheek. Sokka hooks his hands behind Zuko’s knees, holding onto him. “None of it’s true. It’s not a bad thing, we’re not doing anything wrong. It’s not bad— it’s wonderful. It’s beautiful. We can do it. Together. It’s not too much.”</p><p>“But what if it is?” Zuko’s voice breaks. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this.” His voice quiets until Sokka can barely make him out. “I don’t know if I can be the Fire Lord.”</p><p>“But you—” <i>have to,</i> Sokka almost says.</p><p>Zuko goes rigid. </p><p>“Don’t—” He meets Sokka’s gaze finally, eyes wild. “Don’t repeat that! Any of that. Ever, to anybody,” he says fiercely. </p><p>Sokka shakes his head, knocked speechless by Zuko’s intensity.</p><p>“If word gets out that I’m— That I’m anything less than—” Zuko sits up. His hands move to his thighs instead, nails digging in painfully. “It will destabilize everything. There’s so much in the works. If there’s any hint of instability— It’ll all fall apart if anyone knows about me. The— the whole world is—”</p><p>Zuko’s breath takes on an uncontrolled edge, and if Sokka knows anything it’s that now is the time to stop this. The last thing he wants to do is misstep and make it worse.</p><p>“It’s okay, wait here. Everything’s okay,” he says, to Zuko but equally to himself as he opens the exterior door to the guard again.</p><p>“Go get Mai,” Sokka tells them, gut hard as a rock.</p><p>---</p><p>With every fiber of his being, Sokka does not want to face Mai. But he has no choice. Zuko needs her right now, needs someone who can help him better than Sokka can. That’s more important.</p><p>Mai comes down the hallway like clouds rolling in, her dark robes billowing around her. She spots him in the doorway and Sokka can almost feel the rumble of thunder as she stalks forward, pace coming quicker.</p><p>“I— Please,” Sokka says helplessly.</p><p>She pushes past him into the sitting room. Zuko doesn’t react, still bent over, sobbing breaths coming too fast into his hands.</p><p>Sokka watches with a horrible ache in his chest as Mai moves him until he’s laying down on the lounge, letting him keep his hands over his eyes. She lays on top of him, pinning him down. Zuko visibly relaxes in his whole body and Sokka turns away, then. It’s too intimate to look at.</p><p>Instead of walking into the hallway where the guard stands — where would he go then? Walk all the way across the city again? — he finds himself opening the door to the bedroom suite. </p><p>The door shutting behind him silences the soft speaking sounds coming from the next room. Sokka moves toward the bed and sits on the edge. The texture of the silk sheets under his fingers makes his skin crawl. </p><p>He looks around at the gaudy wallpaper, still as deeply red as the last time. The room feels cursed. </p><p>Sokka feels numb. </p><p>He sits, detached, staring at the wall. If he searches he can find it, a sense of dread building up inside him, far away.</p><p>Some time passes. Despite the lack of windows, his body knows it’s late at night now. The door opens. </p><p>It’s Mai.</p><p>“There’s a carriage waiting for you outside,” she says. </p><p>He walks through the sitting room. No trace of Zuko. She walks him to the rear entrance of the embassy, the same door he came through on his way in. </p><p>“You’re not going to say anything to anyone about tonight.”</p><p>Sokka nods.</p><p>She points him to the carriage and says nothing else. Without a word, he goes.</p><p>---</p><p>The carriage drops him off outside his front door. He stands there for a while, long after the vehicle departs and the dust settles. He doesn't want to go inside.</p><p>Eventually, he climbs the stairs and knocks at the third floor apartment.</p><p>Natsiq opens the door, sleep-ruffled. Aklaq’s voice echoes through the room behind them, “Who is it?”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sokka says tremulously. “I know it’s late.” </p><p>“You’re shaking—”</p><p>“You were right." Sokka shakes his head. "I’m sorry. You were right and I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Natsiq ushers him inside, into a firm hug. “It will be okay.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you can find my art for this au <a href="https://chronicpainzuko.tumblr.com/tagged/poalof_au">here</a>, and follow me on tumblr at <a href="https://chronicpainzuko.tumblr.com/">chronicpainzuko</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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